


Some Nights

by coffeeandcheesecake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Series, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 22:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14602719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcheesecake/pseuds/coffeeandcheesecake
Summary: Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end,‘cause I could use some friends for a change.And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again.Some nights, I always win, I always win...But I still wake up, I still see your ghost.Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh,what do I stand for? What do I stand for?Some nights, I don’t know anymore.They say it’s over because they want it to be, but Dean knows the truth. It’s never over. Not really.





	1. Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic in 2012, when I was deep in the Supernatural fandom, and I abandoned it once I graduated college and wasn't as involved in fandom anymore. But it was always calling to me, and I was inspired to finish after reading some of the DCBBs this year. So... after I six years, it's finally finished and beta-ed and I can give it to all of you! I hope it holds up. I desperately wanted this fic to be post-series and canon, and the one person I wish I could include is Mary, but I would have had to do some serious rewrites to have that make sense, so maybe next time.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this; it's the fic I always wanted to write.

_Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end,_

_‘cause I could use some friends for a change._

_And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again._

_Some nights, I always win, I always win..._

_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost._

_Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh,_

_what do I stand for? What do I stand for?_

_Some nights, I don’t know anymore._

\----

They say it’s over because they want it to be, but Dean knows the truth. It’s never over. Not really.

But they say it’s over, and they take the machetes and shotgun shells out of the trunk, and Sam applies to Stanford, and Dean pays first and last month’s rent on a little house.

There are still restless spirits, demons, werewolves, vampires, shifters, ghouls, every other terrifying monster that dwells in the dark. But there’s a whole new generation of hunters out there (Dean wonders how many of them are kids he taught about the dark and what lives in it) and that means it’s time for retirement. The dark still exists; it always will. But someone else is taking care of it this time.

Dean and Sam live about a half hour away from campus. He wonders how Sam can come back to California. Back to Palo Alto, where he lost Jess. Back to San Francisco, where he lost Madison. Dean can’t bear to go back to the places where he’s lost people. It’s part of the reason he had to stop moving around: he’s lost people everywhere.

Like Castiel. He’s human now, brokenly and bitterly human, so he gets a car and drives out to South Dakota. He doesn’t tell Dean that he’s rebuilding Bobby’s old house, but Dean knows.

So they have a life. Sam goes to school. Dean works at a garage. They pretend they didn’t just spend the last twenty years dying and crashing and burning and losing. They acclimate. They assimilate. They’re civs, for Christ’s sake.

Occasionally, there are signs, and it takes every inch of self-control Dean possesses to repress the instinct to run to the basement of their house, dig out the shotgun shells, and start blasting at every shiver in the air. But Sam is insistent. He won’t let Dean sleep with a knife under his pillow anymore.

\----

Dean collapses onto the bed, the woman next to him still writhing in delight. Dean winces at how winded he is, how his back aches; when did he get old?

“That was great,” the woman (Jenny?) purrs. She has blonde hair. He met her at the garage. She’d asked him out while he fixed her Prius.

Dean tries to smile, but it must look like more a grimace, because she immediately purses her lips.

“So do you want my number?” she asks, a bit of edge to her tone. “Because if you don’t--”

“No, no, I do,” Dean leans across the bed to grab his phone and hand it to her. “I’d love your number, really, this was fun.”

She programs it in and hands it back to him, the sharpness gone from her face. Dean peeks at the name: Alexis. Damn. Not even close.

“Call me anytime,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

She grabs her shirt from the floor and pulls it back on before slipping into her shoes and leaving. Dean listens for the click of the front door before he flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling.

This is supposed to feel normal. This is supposed to be what he does best. Why does it feel like he’s pretending to be somebody different?

“Because you are somebody different,” Sam says when Dean mumbles this thought over breakfast. “Dean, you’re not twenty-six anymore. And you’ve been through Hell-- literally-- and Purgatory and now... well, maybe this just isn’t _you_ anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean says. “Of course it’s me! I’m the cool one who picks up the girls and you’re the nerd with the laptop.”

“Says the guy who just blew, like, two hundred bucks at a Star Trek Convention.”

Dean shakes his head in disappointment.

“It’s like we’re not even related.”

\----

When Paul and Nick ask him if he wants to grab a beer after work for like, the ninetieth time, and Dean says no, again, for some reason, this time, he has an existential crisis. Dean never goes out, still feel awkward and out of place among people who don’t know what lives in the dark, but then Sam, with his stupid always-right voice, appears in his head and starts in on an opening argument: “Blah blah blah Dean you need friends blah blah Dean trust issues blah blah blah.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean mutters. “Uh, guys? Wait up!”

They end up at this nice bar in town called O’Malley’s and Dean realizes just how weird it is to have friends who are people, _civilians_ even, and not angels or demons or other hunters.

“So, Dean, where’d you live before California?” Nick asks, startling Dean out of his thoughts.

“All over, actually,” Dean says, fiddling with the straw in his water. “I was born in Kansas, lived there ‘til I was four, but after that I don’t think I ever lived anywhere longer than a few months.”

“Hardcore,” Paul says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. _You have no idea._

They chat some more, about their families, siblings, significant others. Paul is married to Sally, his high-school sweetheart, and Nick is just about to tell Dean about his love life when his face lights up and he waves at the door.

“There he is now!” His grin is blinding. “Jude! Over here!”

Paul gives Dean a very nervous look, but he relaxes when Dean shakes Jude’s hand and politely introduces himself. Jude has big blue eyes and dark hair, and Dean finds himself blatantly staring at him until he notices Nick is glaring.

“I actually gotta be getting home,” Dean says, reaching out to shake everyone’s hand again. “Paul, Nick, thanks for finally getting me out for a night, I’ll see you guys at the garage next week... nice to meet you, Jude--”

He walks home, needing the time to think. He’s done an excellent job of pretending that his life here in California has everything he wants. Granted, it has a lot of things he wants: Sam in school, a home that’s not on wheels, an honest, steady, paying job as a mechanic, but it’s getting more and more difficult to ignore the gaping, fallen-angel-sized hole in his world.

He doesn’t know why seeing Nick and Jude together tonight, holding hands, laughing into each other’s mouths, threw him over the edge, but he tells himself it has something to do with the fact that Jude had blue eyes, bright with affection, just like...

Sam’s not home from a study-session with friends, so Dean just crawls out of his clothes and tumbles into bed, but he doesn’t fall asleep for a long time.

\----

Dean lurches awake, his foot on a dream-step that collapses and sends him spinning back to his bed, forehead damp with sweat, his legs tangled in his sheets, and...

“Shit,” he breathes. “Oh, shit.”

\----

The phone rings and rings and rings. Dean taps his fingers and bites his lips and generally panics for thirty seconds before the ringing stops and a gruff voice says, “Hello?”

“Cas?”

There’s a pause, then an incredulous, “Dean?”

Dean is a little insulted by just how surprised Castiel sounds. Dean had said he would call, didn’t he?

 

“You sound shocked.”

“I just... didn’t... expect you to call.”

“Well, I am.”

“I-- all right.”

Dean resists the urge to take his phone and hit himself repeatedly in the head with it. This is not how he wanted this conversation to start out.

“So, uh... how’ve you been?”

“Busy. There are many restless spirits in the surrounding area.”

“You’ve been hunting, Cas?”

There must be some hint of accusation in his words, because Castiel responds very defensively.

“Yes, Dean. What else would you have me do?”

“That’s not what I meant, Cas, I just-- I’m glad someone’s out there. Someone good. Since Sam and I-- well. I’m glad you’re helping people.”

“I learned from the best.” Castiel’s voice is free of irony and it makes Dean want to reach through the phone and hug him, as chick-flick as it sounds.

“So, I, uh...” Dean laughs a little and scratches the back of his head. “I called because... well, I had a really funny dream about you last night.”

“You... you dreamt about me?”

Dean debates for about three seconds about whether to tell him the actual dream, then launches into what he had actually practiced.

“Yeah, it was hilarious,” Dean flops down in his armchair, trying his best to sound flippant. “You and I were like, I don’t know, private detectives or something, and we were in Spain, but everyone was speaking Swedish, and then you were wearing curtains because you’d just watched Gone With The Wind, I don’t know--”

“Dean--”

“And then we had to save the world, but it wasn’t the apocalypse, it was a nuclear reactor or something and we had to climb all these stairs so you could fix it, so we were just climbing and climbing--”

“ _Dean_.”

“What?”

“Why are you calling me?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Did you really just call me to tell me about a dream you had?”

“I...” Dean doesn’t know what to say. “Yes?”

Castiel sighs, not deeply, just a short little burst of air like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Dean, please don’t call me again.”

“What?” Dean feels like he’s been struck in the face. “Cas--?”

“If you need my assistance, if you’re in danger, please call and I’ll do my best to help, but other than that...”

“Cas, I thought we were friends,” Dean says, anger rising in his voice.

“We were,” Cas answers, his tone as flat as ever. “And we were a good team, Dean. But now you’re retired, and I have a life here, in Sioux Falls, and when you call, I just get confused, so please, just... don’t.”

“Confused about what?” Dean feels like his heart is being squeezed. “Cas?”

But Castiel has already murmured, “Goodbye, Dean,” and hung up.

\----

“Weird,” Sam says through a mouthful of sandwich when Dean relates the story the next afternoon.

“I know, right?” Dean says, incensed. “He didn’t even give a good reason. So what if we’re retired? And South Dakota and California aren’t _that_ far away!”

“Cas is weird,” Sam shrugs. “You know that. He asked you not to call, so don’t call.” He flicks his hair out of his eyes.

“Fine,” Dean says petulantly, stuffing half his burger in his mouth.

He and Sam chew in silence for a moment before Sam speaks.

“Dean, are you... are you happy here?”

“Of course I am,” Dean answers right away, but he can tell by the look in Sam’s eye that his little brother doesn’t believe him. And the kid could always read him like a book.

And fine, maybe he doesn’t love it. Maybe he liked having a home on wheels, watching the town names pass by, remembering who and what he had lost in each one. Maybe he enjoyed having angels and demons for friends, sleeping with a knife under his pillow. Maybe he misses Castiel’s blue eyes looking at him with affection.

“I think it’s for the best,” Sam says, apologetic. “I mean, we only ever got Cas into trouble. It’s for the best we keep our distance.”

Dean nods, but his insides are churning. He’s positive that there’s something else going on with Castiel, and if Castiel isn’t going to tell him, he’s just going to figure it out himself.

Sam and Dean finish their food in silence. Sam goes back to class. Dean goes back to the garage, just like any other day.

But it’s not just any other day, because Dean wants a change.


	2. We Are Young

_So if by the time the bar closes_

_and you feel like falling down_

_I’ll carry you home tonight._

 ----

Over the next few weeks, Dean finds himself going out with Paul and Nick even more. Retirement had done the impossible and made him sober, and while he isn’t in AA or anything like that, he has tried to put drinking behind him, stuck in the past, just like hunting. He’s nursed waters and sodas out at bars, and the guys have never given him any crap about it.

Until now.

“Come on, Dean, have a beer,” Nick wheedles, his words already slurring  bit. “You _never_ drink, and it’s Paul’s birthday! Do it for Paul, Dean!”

“Nick,” Jude scolds. “What are we, in college? Aren’t we a little above peer pressure?”

“You don’t have to,” Paul assures Dean.

Dean’s face gets hot with embarrassment. It’s not up to these guys to protect him. Hell, he used to drink every day. He’s not a freaking _child._ He orders a jack and coke.

Several hours, and several Jack and Cokes (and then just Jacks) later, Dean’s head is spinning. He and Paul have their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they wobble down the street, and he knows Nick and Jude are right behind them, as he can hear Nick’s wild laughter.

“So, where’re we goin’?” Dean asks (has he asked already? He thinks so).

“M’friend Gina’s house,” Paul says directly into his ear. “We have t’get some booze first, though...”

Dean feels like they practically buy out the liquor store, and his arms are weighed down by bags of rum and whiskey by the time they get to Paul’s-friend-Gina’s house. The woman who takes the bags from him has long, dark, hair, and she gives him an appreciative once-over.

“Well, hey there, handsome,” she says, grinning. Dean laughs. Her teeth are _so white._

Paul’s-friend-Gina is having a party, and her apartment is already full of people by the time they all stumble in. Paul wanders off to hug a group of people, all of whom scream, “Happy birthday!” at him, and Gina takes his arms gently to guide him to a couch.

“So how do you know Paul?” she asks, practically sitting on top of him.

“We work together,” Dean answers. He knows that he should be somewhat excited about the fact that this beautiful woman clearly wants him, but he feels oddly like there’s somewhere else he has to be.

“Oh, so you’re the new mechanic!” she throws back her head and laughs, revealing her white teeth again. “We’ve all theorized about you!”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Paul told us how elusive and mysterious you are,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. “He thinks you’re a war veteran, but I think you were a spy for the government.”

“That so,” Dean says. He needs to get away from this conversation before he says something stupid and Gina decides a better place for him would be a mental hospital.

“Yep,” Gina giggles. “So which was it?”

“Neither,” Dean says, trying to untangle himself from her, but she won’t let him go.

“Oh, come on,” she says sweetly. “Okay, we won’t play that game anymore. Come on, stay here with me.”

“I have to find my friend,” Dean mutters, finally succeeding in getting himself off the couch and almost falling over in the process. “I need to talk to--”

He spots Nick through the crowd and heads toward him, but Nick chooses that moment to pull Jude into his arms and kiss him, and Dean stops.

It shouldn’t affect him this much, watching Nick and Jude together, but it does. They’ve kissed before, in front of him, smiled soppily at each other, had entire conversations with their eyes at the bar about when they should leave and go home. And Jude has dark hair and blue eyes and sometimes when he looks at Nick, Dean sees something so familiar it makes his gut ache.

And now, seeing them wrapped around each other so intimately, Dean knows, suddenly and stupidly, that he can’t be here anymore. Not just here, at Paul’s-friend-Gina’s house, but here-here, in San Francisco, in California. He needs to be somewhere else.

“Hey!” Dean’s arm shoots out and catches Paul’s arm as he walks by. “Paul!”

Paul smiles at him. “Hey, buddy,” he says. “How’s Gina? You two looked pretty comfortable.”

Dean shakes his head violently. “Paul, I need you t’take me somewhere and y’can’t ask me why.”

“What?” Paul’s brow furrows. “Dean, s’two in the morning, why do you--?”

“I just need t’go somewhere,” Dean pleads.

“Why don’t you wait ‘til you’ve sobered up, Dean,” Paul says, patting his arm and trying to walk away, but Dean pulls him back.

“ _No_ ,” he says forcefully. “If I sober up, I’ll over-think it and I won’ do it. I need t’go _now.”_

Paul follows Dean’s gaze to Nick and Jude, who are still playing tonsil-hockey. Paul must see something in Dean’s eyes because he suddenly looks like he understands.

“Okay,” he says. “Lemme me grab my coat.”

\----

When Dean wakes up, his phone is vibrating against his face. Actually, that’s not the only thing that’s vibrating. His whole body is vibrating, and so is whatever he’s lying on. His head also really hurts, so he does the only thing he’s capable of doing, which is to press ‘ANSWER’ on his phone.

“H’lo,” he mumbles.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam’s voice screeches in his ears.

“Ow,” Dean mutters. “Stop screaming.”

“ _Dean_ , where the _fuck_ are you?”

“Um,” Dean glances around at his surroundings. The reason he’s vibrating is because he appears to be on some sort of vehicle moving at top speeds. “I think I’m on a train.”

“A _train_ ? Going _where?_ ”

Dean fishes in his pockets and finds a ticket stub. _Shit._

“I think I’m going to Idaho,” he says.

Sam immediately starts shrieking about how it’s four o’clock in the afternoon and Dean’s been missing for hours and this is why Sam needs the phone numbers of all of Dean’s friends, and it sounds like he’ll be screaming for hours if Dean doesn’t stop him.

“Sam, hold on,” he says. “I’m going to call my friend.”

“You better call me back,” Sam warns before hanging up.

When Paul picks up, it sounds like his head feels the same as Dean’s.

“What happened last night?” Dean demands.

“You told me I had to take you to the train station,” Paul says. “You wouldn’t let go of my arm.”

“Did I tell you where I wanted to go?”

“Yeah, some place in South Dakota,” Paul says. “I don’t remember the name. Something Falls? You were adamant, man.”

“Well, did I tell you _why_?” Dean practically yells.

“You wouldn’t tell me,” Paul says, sounding incredibly tired of this conversation. “The only time you said anything the entire way to the train station is when I asked you if you at least had a place to stay in South Dakota, and you said you had family there. But--” he hesitates.

“What?” Dean demands.

“I think it had something to do with Jude and Nick. They were standing off in the corner, you know, doing... what they do, and it made you really upset. Not like, angry, but... I don’t know, and then you made me take you to a train station.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “All right, thanks, Paul,” he says.

“Are you coming back?” Paul asks.

“I...” Dean honestly has no idea. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

“All right, man. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

He hits himself once, in the face, with his phone, before he calls Sam back. Sam is very quiet when Dean tells him where he’s going.

“Why?” he asks simply.

Dean swallows. “I think it has something to do with Cas.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Sam says. “But what’s so freaking drastic that you had to spend two hundred dollars on a train to Idaho at two in the morning?”

Dean isn’t ready, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready, to have this conversation, so all he says is, “I saw some friends of mine... together. And it made me want it for myself.”

Sam is very quiet.

“Say something,” Dean says.

“I just never thought you would get it,” Sam says. “It’s been years, and I never thought--” He laughs, almost sadly. “Good luck, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, his throat thick.

“Call me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do,” Dean says, and hangs up.

He spends the next forty-five minutes staring at his phone, wondering if he should call Castiel and tell him he’s coming. But what would he say? _Hey, Cas, I realized that I think about you every time I see my friends make out and I think it means I want to make out with you_? But what then? Castiel lives in South Dakota. He’s a hunter. Dean lives in California, and he’s a civilian now.

Dean’s head really hurts.

He doesn’t call Castiel.

He goes back to sleep instead.


	3. Carry On

_Well, I woke up to the sound of silence,_

_the cars were cutting like knives in a fist fight._

_And I found you with a bottle of wine,_

_your head in the curtains_

_and heart like the fourth of July._

_You swore and said, “We are not,_

_we are not shining stars.”_

_This, I know. I never said we are._

_\----_

Dean wakes up just outside of Boise. It’s the end of the line for the train, so he has to get off and buy a new ticket. It’s going to take him about twenty hours to get from there to South Dakota, and he thinks longingly of his car, back in Palo Alto. He almost decides to go back and get it, but a little part of him knows that if he goes back to California, he’ll never leave again. He buys a ticket for Pierre, hoping he’ll be able to rent a car once he gets there.

He spends the next day sleeping, reading a dumb mystery novel he bought at the train station, and fretting obsessively over this idiotic decision. Castiel is probably going to take one look at him and slam the door in his face. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms, and that phone call a couple weeks ago probably didn’t help much.

Dean remembers well the day Castiel had fallen completely, appearing suddenly in he and Sam’s motel room, white-faced, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He’d passed out in Dean’s arms, then slept for two days. When he’d woken up, he was completely human. He’d refused to share with Sam or Dean the circumstances of his falling, only that his Grace had been waning for years and was now gone for good. Dean had wanted to look for it, find some way to make him full-angel again, only because of the look of misery on Castiel’s face.

Castiel had not taken this well, and Dean still cringes when he thinks about the fight they had that day, Castiel screaming that being an angel was all he was good for to Dean, and Dean trying to tell him that humanity sucked, he’d be happier as an angel. Sam had been a shitty mediator, and the argument had ended with Castiel storming out of the motel room to God-knows-where.

They didn’t speak again until Dean called to tell him he and Sam were retiring. He’d shown up, collected all of the guns and machetes and Sam’s source material out of the trunk of the Impala, and he’d taken it to South Dakota. And that was the last time Dean had seen him, almost two years ago.

Confronted with this memory, Dean almost flings himself out the train window. Hitchhiking back to California sounds a lot easier than facing Castiel in a few short hours. He takes a deep breath and forces himself not to freak out.

From Pierre, it’s another short train ride to Sioux Falls, and he finally pulls into the Sioux Falls train station at around four in the afternoon. There isn’t a car rental place in sight, but Dean knows his surroundings pretty well, so he begins a slow trek to Singer Salvage Yard.

It’s starting to get dark when he comes around the bend and sees Bobby’s old house silhouetted against the sky. A lump appears in his throat... it’s been awhile. Dean’s heart starts beating fast when he realizes that he was right; the windows look new and it’s clear that parts of the house have been rebuilt.

He doesn’t know how long he stands in the yard, staring at the house, but the sky has only grown darker by the time he finally drags his heavy feet up the front porch steps and knocks firmly on the door.

Dean jumps when a chorus of loud barks resounds from inside the house ( _dogs? Cas has dogs?_ ) and then the screen door bangs open and Dean almost gets knocked over by a large, slobbery bloodhound, and then someone is yanking the dog back by the collar and there’s a voice saying, “Sorry, sorry, he looks mean but he’s a big baby,” and Dean is saying, “Cas?” and then there’s silence.

The man standing in the doorway, gripping the collar of the bloodhound with white knuckled hands, looks nothing like the Castiel Dean remembers. His hair’s grown out, for one thing. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and faded jeans and work boots, for another. And his face looks more relaxed-- or, at least it did. Now it’s staring at him with a mixture of confusion and shock, and it’s only those wide, familiar blue eyes that make Dean positive it’s even Castiel.

“Hi,” Dean says.

“Hello,” Castiel says faintly, still staring at him.

The bloodhound lunges for Dean again, panting happily, and the movement seems to shock Castiel into action. He shoves the dog into the house with a muttered, “Stay, Jonah,” and steps onto the porch, slamming the screen door behind him.

Castiel just stares at him for a second, as if expecting something. When Dean can do nothing but bite his lip nervously, Castiel says, “So?”

“So...?” Dean repeats, feeling idiotic.

“So, what are you doing here?” Castiel says, the barest hint of anger beneath his words.

Dean laughs weakly, scratching the back of his head.

“Funny story,” he says, and then stops. Castiel is staring at him expectantly.

“Can I come in?” he says instead. “It’s been a long trip.”

Wordlessly, Castiel opens the door and leads him inside. Jonah the bloodhound, followed by a yappy little Jack Russell and a big, lumbering Labrador, immediately try to ambush Dean, but Castiel shoos them into the hallway and slides the door shut.

Dean wants to look at everything at once. In some ways, the living room looks just like it did when Bobby was alive: books everywhere, desk covered in a number of spell-work items, the ratty old couch that Dean is convinced is the root of all his back problems. But it’s not the same, a point proven by the fact that Castiel is standing there, looking at him like he’s the outsider, when it’s always been the other way around. Dean gulps when he thinks about the last time they stood here together, and said horrible things to each other, and he tries not to run.

“Can I... get you something to drink?” Castiel asks unsurely, as if he’s read somewhere that one must ask these questions when one has a guest, but feels like it’s not exactly right for this particular situation.

“What’ve you got?” Dean asks cheekily, trying to lighten the situation.

Castiel looks thoughtful for a second.

“Do you... drink wine?” he asks tentatively.

No, Dean does _not_ drink wine (two years in California hasn’t changed him _that_ much), but it appears Castiel does, so he’s not going to make the weird weirder by refusing. “Sure.”

Dean chuckles as Castiel pulls down a couple of wine glasses from the cabinet and yanks a bottle of red from the pantry.

“Hey, if I knew you drank wine, I would’ve brought you a bottle from California,” he says.

Castiel looks up from the counter and Dean swears there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “It’s a fairly new habit,” he says, handing one of the glasses to Dean. “But I find I enjoy it more than beer.”

“Heathen,” Dean says, but he’s grinning, and Castiel is kind of smiling back, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Well, cheers.”

Castiel raises his glass slightly and they both drink, silence settling heavily in the room.

“So, are we just not going to address the fact that you traveled thirty-six hours to have a glass of wine in my kitchen?” Castiel asks, and Dean swallows, the wine burning on the way down.

“Um,” he says. “It’s... sort of tough to explain.”

Castiel just raises his eyebrows, and Dean caves.

“To be honest, I got kind of drunk.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up even further.

“Okay. Extremely drunk. And I bought a train ticket.”

“You took the train here?” Castiel asks, bewildered. “Where’s your car?”

“Back in Palo Alto,” Dean admits sheepishly. “Like I said... extremely drunk. I kind of made getting here a top priority.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, his eyebrows scrunching together, and Dean suddenly becomes completely incapable of having this conversation because _Cas doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why he decided at the two in the morning, drunk off his ass, that he needed to get to Sioux Falls, needed to see Cas again, to tell him_...

“Fuck if I know,” Dean laughs. “I was shit-faced. So, what’s up with you? You on a hunt?”

Castiel runs a finger along the rim of the wine glass. “Not currently.”

“Then come on, let’s go out,” Dean says, tossing back the rest of the wine in his glass like it’s a shot. “I’m looking forward to seeing you get drunk as a human. Bet it’s easier than when you were an angel, huh?”

“Dean,” Castiel begins, but Dean doesn’t let him finish.

“Come on, Cas,” he says. “It’s been forever. Just... do this with me, okay?”

Castiel stares helplessly at him, for a second, and then nods. There’s a rusty blue pickup in the yard, and when Castiel settles behind the wheel, Dean can only stare. When Castiel notices, he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been human for two years, Dean,” he says. “I know how to drive.”

And with that, Dean scrambles into the passenger seat and they’re off.

\----

It’s odd to walk into a bar with Castiel and have people wave and say, “Hey, Cas!” like they know him.

“Friends of yours?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I come here often,” is all Castiel says as he seats himself at a little table adjacent to the bar.

Almost immediately, a waitress arrives with what looks like bourbon and sets it in front of Castiel.

“Something for your friend?” she asks, smiling at Dean.

“Double of Jack,” he says, winking.

Castiel rolls his eyes, and Dean feels almost wounded.

“What?” he asks defensively.

“You’re just as charming as ever,” Castiel says, nonchalant, but there’s a bite to his words that makes Dean burn with embarrassment.

“Well, you’re a lot more sarcastic than I remember,” Dean snaps. “Been taking human lessons?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Castiel hisses.

Dean falls silent as the waitress returns with his whiskey, but he continues to glare at Castiel.

“So why are you really here, Dean?” Castiel asks, eyes on his drink. “I thought when we spoke on the phone that you understood my feelings.”

“You told me not to _call_ you,” Dean points out.

“And you figured showing up on my doorstep is what I would prefer?” Castiel asks, his eyes finally finding Dean’s.

Dean doesn’t know how to read the look in Castiel’s eyes. There’s anger, and bitterness, but they look sad, too, and wistful, and Dean has no idea what he’s thinking.

“I don’t know,” is all he can say. “I told you, I was drunk. I wasn’t figuring anything.”

Castiel chews on his lower lip (such a human trait; Dean wants to reach across the table and pull it free) and sits back in his chair.

“I haven’t asked you for anything in two years,” he says quietly. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I don’t want to!” Dean resists the urge to scream in Castiel’s face. “Cas, you and I were family once, you were my best friend. Why is it so bad that I want to keep you in my life?”

“I’m not an angel anymore!” Castiel whispers angrily. “I’m of no use to you.”

“Are we honestly back on that?” Dean groans, throwing back an ample amount of his whiskey.

“Yes, we are,” Castiel grits out, “and we will always be, because it’s the entire reason we were a team in the first place.”

“You know, Cas, I thought you were smart,” Dean says. “But you never got this. You were my _friend._ Not my guardian angel or whatever. I never cared about any of that shit.”

Castiel runs a hand over his face, and oh, shit, did he get that from Dean?

“I thought things would be different after everything that happened,” he says softly. “I thought maybe you’d trust me more. I thought...” He looks furious with himself for a moment. “But you didn’t change. You were still the same Dean... selfish, unhappy, and you took it out on me.”

Dean wants to argue, but he can’t. Castiel is right.

“I’m different now,” he says. “I’m trying, Cas. I want...”

But then he stops. This is it. This is his big moment, the chance to finally tell the truth, to stop hiding behind all those stupid walls he’s been building since he first learned how. But how can he complete that sentence? _I want to change? I want something else? I want you?_

“What?” Castiel asks helplessly.

His eyes look so open in that moment, and there’s his Cas, his angel, who has always stood by him and done what he thought was necessary to keep him safe. That’s what he’s been looking for in California for two years, and never found.

“Can I tell you the reason I came here?” Dean asks. “I have these friends, Nick and Jude. And they’re together. And...” he takes a deep breath, “they’ve made me realize certain feelings that I have. For... for you.”

Castiel eyes grow wide, answering Dean’s unspoken _do you understand what I’m saying here?_ He doesn’t speak, just runs a finger along the rim of his glass. Inside, Dean is screaming.

“How is Sam?” Castiel asks.

“Excuse me?” Dean sputters. “I tell you that, and all you can say is--”

“Dean,” Castiel says, voice low, eyes dark. “Not here.”

Dean swallows. That look could mean several things. It could mean _I’m going to beat you up in the alley and leave you for dead._ It could also mean _I’m going to pull off all of your clothes with my teeth_.

“Sam’s good,” he answers. “He’s at Stanford again, finally finishing his degree...”

They talk and talk for the rest of the night. Dean tells Castiel about everything he can think of: Sam’s school stories, the garage, Paul and Nick and Jude and some of their nights on the town. Castiel responds with his own stories about living in Sioux Falls, the people he’s met, some of the hunts he’s been on. Dean had been anticipating that after his revelation, the night would descend into horrible awkwardness, but that moment just doesn’t come. On the contrary, he didn’t think he and Castiel had ever talked this much, not so casually, about their lives. They had always had some greater purpose, some more pressing issue on their minds, no time to tell meaningless anecdotes for laughs.

Dean’s just finishing up a story about a woman who’s car he fixed that has Castiel chuckling when he checks his watch.

“It’s late,” Castiel says. “Let’s go.”

Dean is suddenly hit with a wave of nervousness. Is Castiel going to beat him up in the alley and leave him for dead? Or (his heart lurches at the thought) something else?

The drive back to the house is silent. Dean doesn’t know if Castiel is as nervous as he is-- he’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, but that could just be a habit; his face is as cool and calm as ever. They pull up in front of the house and once again, Castiel leads him inside. Dean stands awkwardly in the living room while Castiel appears to go about his nightly routine: letting the dogs inside, making sure the gate is closed, turning off all the lights. He finally turns to Dean, who swallows.

“So, I guess I’ll crash on the--”

Castiel crosses the room in two strides, takes Dean’s face in his hands, and kisses him. The words get lost in Dean’s throat as his hands come up to squeeze Castiel’s waist, and he gasps in surprise when Castiel presses forward, deepening the kiss, plunging into Dean’s open mouth.

After a few moments, Castiel pulls away, his hands still framing Dean’s face. His eyes search Dean’s, and it’s like it’s always been with them-- the real things, the important things, they don’t need words, and Castiel finds what he’s looking for in Dean’s face because he leans up again, to press their lips together, and it’s less urgent this time, sweeter, and Dean feels like he could wrap himself up in this and never let go.

The next time Castiel breaks away, there is a fierce determination in his eyes, and when he takes Dean’s hand to lead him up the stairs, his heart swells with happiness and triumph, knowing that this big thing that’s been there since Castiel first walked into that barn so many years ago... it’s all about to change. For good.


	4. It Gets Better

_It’s hard to keep a straight face when I just want to smile,_

_wish you could see the look that’s in your eyes._

_Like starlight crashing through the room,_

_we’ll lose our feathers._

_Yes, I know, it hurts at first, but it gets better._

_It gets better, it gets better, it gets better--_

_We’ll get better._

_\----_

Dean is getting old; he can feel it when he wakes up in the morning, in his back and in his feet. He can feel it when he’s been sitting for more than an hour, when he’s gone a little too long without sleep. Hell, he’s over forty, he’s retired from a job most people don’t see the back end of, and he’s pretty much felt eighty since he was twenty-two.

Disappointingly, he feels old during sex, too. He finds himself out of breath, his leg and back muscles ache, and after one round he’s pretty much ready to lie in bed forever and never get up again.

But right now, in this moment, standing with Castiel in his bedroom (and the room is so Castiel, it practically screams bookish, nerdy ex-angel of the Lord) he feels like he’s sixteen. His hands are shaking and his throat is tight, like he’s never done this before, like he’s going to mess it up.

But then Castiel strips him of his clothes like he’s a piece of fine art, strokes his chest and his arms with the delicate, specific touch of an artist studying a sculpture, and Dean remembers that this is not something even he’s capable of messing up. This is _Cas_.

They toe off their shoes and Dean gets to work on Castiel’s belt while Castiel sucks marks into Dean’s shoulders. Castiel’s skin is so warm, and when Dean peels off his shirt he has to press a hand to Castiel’s shoulder blades to feel the muscles move underneath his hand, to feel Castiel’s heart flutter and know that this is affecting him the same way it’s affecting Dean.

When they kiss again, it’s like water. When Dean licks into Castiel’s mouth, tongue curling over his teeth, it’s a river. When Castiel fists a hand in Dean’s hair and mouths his throat, it’s a waterfall. And when he throws his head back and moans, low and throaty and musical, it’s a fountain.

Dean feels inexpert, fumbling, but Castiel treats him like he’s precious. He pulls Dean onto the bed once they’re undressed, and then it’s just the sweet slide of their cocks together, hot and sticky and fucking maddeningly slow. Dean’s hands travel down Castiel’s body to his ass and he squeezes, reveling in the breathy whines that he pulls from Castiel’s mouth, moaning himself when he feels Castiel’s teeth on his lower lip.

It doesn’t feel anything like anything Dean’s ever felt before; Castiel rips all of these new feelings out of him that he’d usually rather push down, rather keep locked away, far from the sun, to be safe; Castiel pulls him open, brings those things to light, but somehow makes him feel taken care of at the same time, and Dean doesn’t know when he started trusting Castiel with his entire life again, but when he opens his eyes and looks at Castiel, flushed, panting, beautiful beneath him, he feels nothing but safe, trusting... home.

Castiel pulls away from him to fumble at his bedside table; he returns with lube, but no condom. Dean eyes his hands and raises an eyebrow. Castiel rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t exactly expect you,” he says.

“But what about...?” Dean gestures with his hand. Castiel’s been a living, breathing human for two years now, and he’d said he went to that bar a lot...

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, and Dean wants to grab him and make him say his name, over and over, just like that, tenderly and possessively. “I still haven’t--”

Dean moves, takes Castiel’s mouth again, rocks into him more fiercely than before. Castiel’s fingers card through his hair, he moans, bites his lip. Dean breaks away and his eyes bore into Castiel’s, wide and truthful.

“I’m clean,” he promises. “I just... Cas, I-- I want you.”

“I know,” Cas nods hurriedly. “I want you, too. Please, Dean.”

“What?” Dean breathes. “What do you want, Cas?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I want you to fuck me,” he says finally, and hearing those words fall from Castiel’s lips is pretty much the hottest thing Dean’s ever heard, so he can’t stop himself from surging forward and kissing Castiel with more abandon than he’s ever kissed anyone, sloppy and wet and edging into rough.

Castiel gasps and pushes the lube into Dean’s waiting hand, and Dean wastes no time in thumbing open the bottle and squeezing it onto his fingers. Castiel slings his legs up around Dean’s shoulders and guides his hand down, down to where he’s opening himself up for Dean, pink and puckered and perfect, and he groans, a pained, bitten-off noise when Dean slides a finger in.

“Cas,” Dean says, alarmed.

“No, don’t stop,” Castiel gasps again, rocking his hips down onto Dean’s finger. “Keep going. It’ll get better.”

Dean’s worried brow slowly relaxes as Castiel gets more accustomed to having Dean’s fingers inside him, letting out pleased little noises when Dean finds his prostate, and he feels his own desire and want grow heavy and dark and untamed low in his belly.

“That’s enough,” Cas snaps at him. “Please, Dean, do it. Now.”

“Bossy,” Dean grins at him, but he doesn’t complain because Castiel ordering him around in bed is pretty much the greatest thing ever and all he wants is to fuck that sassy little look off of Castiel’s face.

When he slides into Castiel, cock coated with another layer of lube, Castiel shouts, and Dean stops, waits, while Castiel’s face screws up in pain.

“Cas,” he says again, worried, but Castiel shakes his head.

“Just don’t move for a second,” he says tightly. “It hurts at first, I read that somewhere... just let me...”

Dean leans forward and brushes the hair off of Castiel’s forehead, a tender, sweet movement, and Castiel opens his eyes to gaze at Dean with a look in his eye that Dean wants to photograph and tuck away in his wallet, to take out and stare at sometimes, to have and to hold when he’s sad or lonely. It’s a look that rips right down into Dean’s soul, and it’s all the better because Castiel _knows_ his soul, more intimately than anyone, he held it in his hands and breathed life back into it. And now it feels like Castiel’s eyes are looking right into him, into the core of his body and breath and blood and life and Dean wonders how it could be possible for someone to look at him that deeply, see all the mud and mistakes, and still look at him like he’s the most precious and important thing in the world.

“Move,” Castiel breathes, and Dean does.

He braces himself with a hand next to Castiel’s head, and Castiel’s other hand reaches up to grab his, clutching his fingers. He slides in and out of Castiel’s wet, tight heat and savors every look of surprise and pleasure on Castiel’s face when he grazes the most sensitive place inside him. Castiel’s cock is still hard, painting shining stripes on his stomach, and when Castiel whispers, “Touch me”, Dean holds him and strokes him, fast and wet, with a twist in his wrist, until he comes, spurting messy all over Dean’s fingers, and it’s the clutch and pulse of him around Dean that thrusts him into his own orgasm, and he and Castiel ride it out together, the shudder and heat that travels all the way up from his pelvis to his chest to his eyes and his arms, where Dean can feel it in his fingertips. They collapse together, panting, sweaty, and now is when Dean should feel ancient, old and weak, should feel like the almost-forty-year-old he is, but he doesn’t. He feels new, refreshed, unbroken.

They don’t say a word to each other as Dean pulls out and Castiel uses a towel sitting on a chair beside the bed to wipe the come off them both, but when Castiel turns off the light and lies down, he slots himself right up next to Dean, a hand braced possessively on his chest, and Dean knows that they’re okay, that this is still something huge and bright and beautiful, something worth traveling thirty-six hours for, something worth staying for. He nestles into Castiel, his fingers twisting gently in his hair, and he falls asleep.

\----

When Dean wakes, it’s still dark, and his face is pressed into the back of Castiel’s neck. Their legs are tangled and Dean’s arm is wound possessively around Castiel’s waist. It makes Dean a bit giddy to think about how _pleased_ he is about all this; he knows himself well enough to say pretty firmly that if this had happened four years ago, he would have found himself sneaking out before the sun rose and leaving a vague note on the kitchen counter.

Not only has he grown up a lot in four years, this is _Cas_ , his friend, and he feels like he’s finally getting something right when he leans forward slightly to press a kiss to Castiel’s bare shoulder.

Castiel stirs slightly and murmurs, “Time is it?”

“Before dawn,” Dean says, kissing his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Castiel yawns and mutters, “Do you have to start getting ready to leave?”

Dean freezes. He swears his heart stops beating. He’s sure Castiel can feel him stiffen, because he says, worriedly, “Dean?”

“Do... do you want me to leave?” he asks, trying his best to keep his voice steady.

“You’ve got such a long trip ahead of you,” Castiel says, stretching a little. “I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

Dean wrenches his arm from around Castiel’s waist and rolls off the bed, stumbling a bit.

“That’s very considerate of you,” he says darkly, yanking on his pants, then his shirt.

Castiel props himself up on his elbow and watches Dean for a second, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, clearly confused.

“Nothing!” Dean snaps, pulling on his socks and shoes with a tad more ire than necessary. “Nothing at all, Cas. It’s nice to know how you really feel. Next time I won’t travel two thousand miles for a _fuck_.”

“Dean!” Cas says, shocked, but Dean is already out the door, down the stairs, crossing to the front door, the screen clattering behind him as he strides out into the yard.

Dean hears the screen door slam again as Castiel comes bolting out of the house, tugging on his pants, and grabs his arm. He tries to pull away, but Castiel is strong.

“What the hell, Dean?” he asks furiously, his eyes flashing.

“Don’t you dare,” Dean snarls. “I’m just doing what you _want_ , Cas. You want me gone? I’m gone. You never have to see me again. I won’t call. I won’t show up on your doorstep. Congratulations, I’m officially out of your hair.”

“You know that’s not what I want,” Castiel growls.

Dean laughs bitterly. “Oh, really? You mean that wasn’t you kicking me out of your bed a few minutes ago?”

“I thought--” Castiel runs a hand through his bed-head frantically, and Dean is seized by the terrifying, ridiculous urge to smooth it, settle his shaking fingers. “I thought that’s what you wanted, Dean!”

“You thought I traveled halfway across the country to fuck you?” Dean practically screams, and he gets a moment of perverse pleasure when Castiel flinches.

“I don’t know!” Castiel says desperately. “I’m... new to this, Dean! I don’t know how this works!”

“Fuck you,” Dean finally manages to wrench his arm from Castiel’s grip. “Get a fucking clue, Cas. I said I wanted you last night.”

Castiel’s face darkens considerably. “Yes, Dean, you said you _wanted_ me. How am I supposed to know what that means?”

“You should just know!” Dean yells, knowing how absolutely idiotic he sounds, too angry to care.

“Oh, really?” Castiel says, his voice rising. “Well, that makes sense. Because that’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? I should just _know_ , I should just _get it_ . It should always be so completely obvious what _you_ want, what _you_ think is best. Well, guess what, you stupid, stupid human? _It’s not._ You are the most frustrating, confusing, fallacious man I have ever encountered and it’s completely impossible to please you no matter what I do!”

“Well, good news for you, then,” Dean spits. “You won’t have to put up with me being frustrating or confusing or fucking _whatever_ anymore! Because I am gone!”

“Good!” Castiel shouts, and he stomps back into the house, the screen door slamming behind him.

Dean watches the dogs peer worriedly from him to the house back to him, their big eyes sad, and he turns on his heel and stalks out of the salvage yard.

Fuck this. Fuck everything he’d felt last night, about being fucking _precious_ and taken care of. Right now Dean feels like a cheap, used whore. He feels like a toy, played with and broken and thrown away. Who was he even kidding, anyway, to think he could have this? To think it would all be so easy after so many years, to think there was one thing he wouldn’t completely and totally fuck up?

“Fuck you,” he says aloud, and he’s not sure whether he’s saying it to Castiel or to himself.


	5. Be Calm

_Oh, be calm, be calm._

_I know you feel like you are breaking down._

_I know that it gets so hard sometimes; be calm._

_Take it from me, I've been there a thousand times._

_You hate your pulse because it thinks you're still alive,_

_and everything’s wrong._

_It just gets so hard sometimes._

_Be calm._

_\----_

When Dean stalks into the house, exhausted and un-showered from three days of consistent travel, Sam practically leaps on him, demanding answers.

“Did you see Cas? What happened? Dean, why aren’t you saying anything? _Dean!_ ”

Dean untangles himself from Sam and stomps up the stairs, fixated on getting his shower and then falling into bed and sleeping forever.

The hot water feels absolutely incredible on his skin and helps relax all the muscles that had tightened uncomfortably from sleeping on the train. He collapses into his bed, sleep already edging into his brain, when he sees a large Sam-shape in the doorway.

“We’re going to talk when you wake up,” the Sam-shape says.

“Mmph,” Dean answers, and then he falls asleep.

\----

Dean lumbers down the stairs the next morning to find Sam ready at the kitchen table with eggs, bacon, and orange juice, hands folded on the table like he’s about to conduct an interview.

Dean sits down and pulls the coffee pot toward him.

“Dean--” Sam begins.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean growls, sipping his coffee and sighing appreciatively as the bitter flavor curls into his mouth and wakes up his brain slightly.

“Well, too bad,” Sam answers.

Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his brother’s and a guilty pit settles in his stomach when he sees that Sam actually looks _really_ upset.

“You don’t get to completely disappear and take a random three-day cross-country trip to see someone we haven’t talked to in two years and then come back looking like you’re going to kill yourself and then not talk about it, Dean,” Sam rattles off, fast and angry. “You don’t get to do that. I’m your brother. You’re supposed to talk to me.”

Dean drives his fingers into his temples, hard. He can feel his headache returning.

“Nothing happened,” he says from behind clenched teeth.

“Did you talk to Cas?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Dean fixes Sam with the coldest glare he can manage.

“So that’s a yes.”

Dean buries his head in his arms and groans.

“Dean--”

“Sam, I am being so serious right now,” Dean says as best he can when his face is mashed into the table. “If you don’t stop asking me questions about what happened this weekend, I am going to punch you in your gigantic head. Do you hear me?”

He hears Sam sigh audibly.

“Fine, Dean.”

\----

“I have a date tonight,” Sam says suddenly as they’re making lunch.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him.

“With who?”

“Her name is Melissa,” Sam says, and his cheeks color slightly when he says her name.   “It’s, um... it’s actually our third date.”

Dean raises both eyebrows.

“We’ve actually known each other for a couple years now,” Sam explains, running a hand through his hair. “She’s in my class, and she’s older, like me. She has a kid.”

“That’s kind of a big deal, Sam,” Dean says.

“I know,” Sam ducks his head. “Believe me, I know. But, Dean, I-- I _really_ like her. A lot. And she’s going to come over tonight to pick me up, and I’d like you to meet her.”

Dean’s stomach does a weird, happy little flip at the small smile on Sam’s face, and he pushes away all of the self-loathing and angst of the Cas Situation to grin at his brother.

“Can’t wait, dude.”

Melissa isn’t like the girls Dean usually sees Sam with. She’s tall, almost as tall as him, and she has long, blonde hair and a wide, brilliant smile. Dean is struck by the intense feeling of deja vu when he sees Sam look at her-- he remembers a night so many years ago, when he was twenty-six and scared, being introduced to a girl Sam had truly loved, seeing that same expression on his little brother’s face.

“It’s great to meet you,” Dean says, and he means it.

\----

Dean isn’t expecting Sam to be home for a few hours, so he wallows. He puts on Dr. Sexy (the entire DVD box set was last year’s Christmas present from Sam) and watches a few episodes as he stuffs his face with the entire contents of the refrigerator.

He stares at the phone for hours.

_If Cas is sorry, if he hadn’t meant what he said, then he would call, right?_

It’s almost eleven when he hears the car pull into the driveway, the door opens, and Sam tumbles in, looking pleased and satisfied and like he’d been making out with Melissa in her car. The sight of him, happy and disheveled, makes Dean feel even worse, which makes him feel guilty as all hell. He should be happy that his brother’s love life is working out for once, even if his is in the crapper.

“Good date?” he asks, trying not to sound bitter and failing.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, completely oblivious to Dean’s pain, and he floats off to his room, probably to write about it in his diary or something.

“I’m super, Sam, thanks for asking,” Dean mutters, and then feels immediately contrite.

He gives the phone one long, last look, and then shoves it none-too-gently off the table. Leaving it there, he stalks up the stairs to his bedroom. If that’s how things are going to be, then fine. Dean is awesome at forgetting about one-night stands, and this is no exception.


	6. Why Am I The One

_I’ve got enough on my mind_

_that when she pulls me by the hair_

_she hasn’t much to hold onto._

_She’s keeping count on her hand, one two three_

_days that I’ve been sleeping on my side._

_[...]_

_So come on, come on, come on,_

_I bet you’re thinking that the worst is yet to come._

_Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?_

_\----_

_Six Months Later_

Dean wakes up to Gina’s fingers dancing along his spine. He glances at the clock and lets out a soft moan.

“Babe, it’s so early,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

“I thought we could have a little fun before I go to work,” she breathes into his ear, nails digging into his shoulder.

He turns his head to kiss her chastely, but then turns back over to bury his head in the pillow.

“I need a few more hours,” he says. “I’m beat.”

She sighs heavily from behind him and the bed squeaks as she gets up and stalks off to take a shower. Dean sighs a bit less dramatically and tries his best to fall back asleep.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Gina (he’s been dating her for three months, to everyone’s delight, it would suck if he didn’t like her at least a little bit) but she doesn’t get him. And it’s not that she isn’t trying to-- there’s just a communication disconnect that neither of them have been able to breach.

Dean’s alarm goes off a couple hours later and he drags himself out of bed to get ready for a day at the garage. When he gets there, Paul is working on a Camarro, his hands already stained with grease.

“Hey, Dean!” he waves. Dean salutes him and goes to drop off his lunch in the fridge before snagging a cup of coffee.

“How’s Gina?” Paul asks eagerly. Since he was the one who set Dean and Gina up in the first place, he’s always the first to inquire as to the status of their relationship. Dean is positive that if he ever proposed, Paul would be first in line to plan their wedding. Sometimes when Paul looks at him, Dean swears he’s planning flowers and color schemes.

“She’s good,” Dean grunts, taking a sip of coffee. “You know Gina. Workaholic.”

“Yeah,” Paul agrees. “Just like you. Good match.”

Dean resists the urge to argue. Two workaholics in a relationship might seem like a good idea, but for he and Gina it means that they really only see each other on weekends.

Dean sets to work on the Ford Focus that some teenager dropped off yesterday (and tries not to cringe because _ugh Ford Focuses_ ) and it’s all he can do not to pass out from boredom and exhaustion. The first couple months working at the garage were exciting; Dean got to learn the insides of all different types of machines, and that was great, but now it just feels empty, robotic, like he’s just another tool on the assembly line. Fix the brakes. Clean the engine. Break it down for scrap. Over and over and over.

The monotony is broken when, around noon, Gina walks in brandishing a paper bag and a smile, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

“Hi, honey,” she says. “I brought you lunch.”

Paul practically glows with secondhand happiness. Dean decides not to mention that he brings his lunch every day.

“Thanks, babe,” he says to her, grinning.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got you a chicken caesar wrap,” she says, handing over the bag. “Everyone likes those, right?”

Dean resists the urge to vomit. Salad. She brought him _salad._

“Dean’s more of a red-meat kind of guy,” Paul says apologetically, wincing when Dean glares at him.

“Well, that’s not very good for you,” Gina says. “Chicken is healthier. I’ll see you at home around eight, Dean?”

“You got it,” Dean leans in to kiss her briefly before heading to the back to put the sandwich in the fridge.

When he gets back to the front, Gina is gone and Paul is gazing at him mournfully.

“You aren’t really getting along, are you?” he asks.

Dean ignores the question. “Hey, Paul,” he says. “You want a chicken caesar wrap for lunch?”

\----

Dean works late doing accounting stuff, and by the time he locks up at quarter to ten, the last place he wants to be is Gina’s apartment, forcing small talk and ending the night with sex. So he goes back to what is technically still home for him-- he and Sam’s apartment close to Stanford’s campus.

He texts Gina to tell her he’s not coming and her response text is short and snippy, but he can’t bring himself to care. Sam and Melissa receive him with open arms and tuck him into bed (in the room that is still his room, even though he usually stays at Gina’s) and he sleeps better than he has in weeks.

The next morning (Saturday, thank whoever) Dean tiptoes down the stairs and finds Melissa and Sam already up and making breakfast.

“Morning, Dean,” Melissa chirps, setting a pile of eggs and bacon in front of him and ruffling his hair affectionately.

“You’re the _best_ ,” Dean moans, tossing his napkin across his lap. “How much would I have to pay to get you to leave that guy over there with the stupid hair and pick me instead?”

“How much you got?” she teases, and when Sam makes an indignant noise, she cups his cheek and kisses him sweetly. “I’m just kidding, baby, like there’s enough money in the world to lure me away from your stupid hair.”

Sam smiles and leans back in to kiss her again.

“You’re too tall for me anyway,” Dean grumbles, digging into his eggs, and Melissa’s laugh rings in the kitchen.

It’s sadly true-- Sam had managed to find probably the only girl in the world who doesn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him, and Dean thinks he should propose on that basis alone. It also helps that she’s unbelievably smart, hilarious, and best of all: two months ago, Sam had told her everything about their life, _everything_ , and she’s still here, making Dean eggs and kissing Sam over coffee. Dean absolutely adores her.

“It’s nine,” Melissa says, checking the time on the microwave. “Time to wake up the Bug.”

“It’s my turn,” Sam volunteers. “Be right back.”

He vanishes up the stairs, leaving Melissa and Dean to feast on eggs at the table and steal all the coffee.

“So, can I talk to you about something?” Melissa says casually.

Dean raises his eyebrows at her. “As long as it doesn’t involve your lady stuff, I’m all ears.”

“You’re an idiot,” she sighs, taking a sip of her coffee. After a moment, she says, more seriously, “The Bug called Sam ‘Daddy’ yesterday.”

Dean considers her. “And... what does the Bug’s mom think about that?”

Melissa’s mouth twitches. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s great, right? She loves him and he loves her and I should be happy that everything clicks, but I can’t help feeling, like... is it too fast?”

“Look, Mel,” Dean says. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I will tell you that I know my brother, and he doesn’t do _anything_ half-way. And you know the way we were raised. Sam’s not going to want to pretend to be a dad and then leave. If he’s committed to being the Bug’s dad, then he’s going to be her dad.”

Melissa gives him a very grateful look, and Dean is reminded how much he loves her and desperately wants her to be his sister. The conversation ends abruptly when Sam re-enters the kitchen, calling, “Here she is-- say good morning to the June-bug!” and balancing Melissa’s tiny  daughter on his hip.

“Good morning June-bug!” Melissa and Dean chorus in equally sappy voices.

June looks mildly grumpy from being woken up and she’s rubbing her eyes with one baby fist and clutching Sam’s collar with the other.

“Mommy... toast,” she mumbles, burying her nose in Sam’s shoulder.

“Coming right up, angel,” Melissa says, and Dean feels a stab of hurt in his gut. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he refuses to look, focusing on June instead.

“Hey there, Bug,” he says in his baby voice. “You sleep good, sweetheart?”

“Dean,” June whines, holding out her arms for him.

Dean preens as he takes June from Sam, smoothing her blonde curls and sitting her on his lap.

“Had a dream about a lizard,” she says, matter-of-fact as you please.

“Why don’t you tell us about it while I make your toast?” Melissa suggests, and then June is off on a rambling babble about lizards and candy and planes and Dean is suddenly hit with the realization that this is what Sam was thinking when he gave it all up; this is what they stopped hunting for. For eggs and coffee and kitchen tables and children who tug your hair with grubby fingers and tell you about their dreams.

\----

Gina is beautiful when she and Dean have sex, and it’s good, it really is, but afterwards he doesn’t want to do anything but roll over and pass out. So he does.

Or at least he tries, but it’s impossible to actually fall asleep when a furious woman is glaring daggers at your back, seething with rage.

“Dean,” she says, sharp as knives. “This isn’t working.”

Dean doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“I know,” he says instead, “I’m sorry.”

She sighs, frustrated, but then her tone eases. “It’s not your fault. We’re just not--”

Dean rolls over onto his back and looks at her. She’s gorgeous, exactly his type when it comes to women: coffee colored hair, big brown eyes, skin that’s dark and warm, body small and lithe and athletic. But when he looks at her, he doesn’t see that. He sees “too soft”, “too small”. He sees eyes that aren’t blue, and wishes that they were.

“Just not,” he agrees, and he’s almost disappointed in himself for how relieved he feels.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Gina says, biting her lip. “But do you have-- I mean... is there... does this, the way you are, does it have something to do with the South Dakota thing?”

“The South Dakota thing?” Dean asks, bemused, and Gina blushes.

“On Paul’s birthday, the night we met,” she says. “We were talking, and then you dragged Paul out the door and when he came back, he said he’d put you on a train to South Dakota. So that’s what I’ve always called it in my mind. The South Dakota Thing. The Thing that made you desperate enough to get on a train in the middle of the night to get to South Dakota.”

“Oh,” Dean turns his head to stare at the ceiling. He tries every day not to think about, tries every day to pretend that it didn’t happen, but he can’t lie anymore. He can’t pretend that it isn’t why he’s so mopey, why he refuses to be a good boyfriend, why he can’t make it work with anyone anymore. “Yeah. It’s... it’s the South Dakota thing.”

“Is it a girl?”

“No.”

Gina sucks in a sharp breath.

“Is it... is it a guy?”

Dean resists the urge to laugh hysterically.

“G, you’re not going to understand what I mean when I say this, but he’s so, so much more than a guy.”

“But you love him,” Gina says, her tone almost defiant, and Dean hesitates for a second before he shakes his head.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he tries to laugh, but it comes out strained and anxious.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly more important to you than us,” Gina says, and Dean would love to call her crazy, blame this whole thing on her, call her ‘possessive’ and ‘clingy’, but she’s none of those things. He’s the problem. Not her.

“You’re right,” he says. “This isn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

He’s expecting her to kick him out of her bed then and there, and he would deserve it, but she just lays a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I could tell when I first met you that you weren’t-- well, you weren’t _available_. But I didn’t care. I should’ve. I’m sorry, too.”

She turns over and leaves Dean to his thoughts. Part of him is cursing himself, because she’s a beautiful woman who wanted him, and this is what he’s supposed to want, this is what he gave up his old life for. But he shoves that part down, because he knows that they don’t just understand each other. She doesn’t get him. She doesn’t get that as much as he likes sex, he doesn’t want to do it before breakfast. She doesn’t get that he’d rather go hungry than eat leaves slathered in dressing. She doesn’t get that he _needs_ Sam-time, because no matter what life they’re living, the most important person is Sam and nothing will ever change that. And when he thinks about it, he never understood her either, and he never tried to.

_Because there was always someone else._

Dean shoves this thought away with vehemence and punches his pillow into it’s proper shape. It doesn’t matter that he’s single again. It doesn’t change anything.

\----

It takes another two days before Dean calls Sam and says, “We need to talk.”

“You breaking up with me, Dean?” Sam jokes when they sit down at the diner, but he sobers instantly when Dean doesn’t laugh. “Dude, you okay?”

Dean takes a deep breath.

“I want to leave California,” he says bluntly.

Sam’s face morphs instantly into panic.

“Dean, no,” he breathes. “I still have to finish my degree and I’ve made all these great connections here and Melissa and June and we’re starting to be a family and Dean, we can leave, we can, but just give it a couple more years, a couple more years and then we can go--”

“Dude!” Dean holds up a hand, halting Sam’s breakdown. “Not you, _me. I_ want to leave California. Relax, man.”

Sam’s puppy-face takes on a decidedly bemused expression.

“You?” he asks, as if the mere idea of Dean leaving the state by himself is preposterous. “Dean, I thought you liked it here.”

Dean shrugs.

“I did,” he said. “For a couple years. It was fine. But I’m bored, man. This is the longest place I’ve lived, ever, since Mom died. And I need a new space.”

“What about the garage? Maybe if you just found a new job--?”

“It’s not the job, man!” Dean smacks his palm onto the table. “It’s this _life_. I know it’s been your dream since forever, and I love visiting it, I really do. Seeing you and Melissa and June-bug, that’s so great, Sammy, it really is. But I don’t want it for myself.”

He bites his lip and waits a moment. He knows Sam is going to freak out when he drops the next bomb.

“I want to hunt again.”

Sam’s eyes get dark and serious.

“Dean. No.”

“It’s what I was born to do, Sam.”

“ _No,_ Dean, _no one_ is born to that life, that’s Dad talking, and the fucking angels talking, like fucking fate or whatever! You don’t have to be a hunter!”

“I know,” Dean says. “But I want to. It’s what I’m good at, Sam. Everything else is just... supplementary. I’m happy when I’m hunting. It’s the only time I’ve ever been really happy.”

“You hated it, Dean!” Sam argues, his eyes wide and practically tearful. “You told me. Every year, you got more and more tired. You just think it’s what you want because you’re bored.”

“I hated the Apocalypse,” Dean corrects. “I hated Eve. I hated the Leviathan, and Purgatory. But driving around the country, hunting ghosts and vamps and shifters? Saving people? I never got tired of that, Sam.”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, and then he asks, softly, “Where will you go?”

“I’ve been thinking about getting a home base,” Dean says. “Just a little apartment. In... in Lawrence. We haven’t been back in a while, you know... and I just-- well, it seemed like I was running from it for a while. I don’t want to run anymore.”

“Nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it?” Sam asks, sounding very defeated, which makes Dean feel so very guilty, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I’ll come back for your wedding, man. For Junie’s birthday. I’ll visit as often as I can. But... I just can’t live here anymore.”

Sam nods, and in a very rare act of brotherly maturity and affection, he reaches across the table and squeezes Dean’s hand. And in a similarly rare act of maturity, Dean doesn’t even make fun of him for it.


	7. All Alone

_And I feel so all alone;_

_no one’s gonna fix me when I’m broke_

_How do you cry with inanimate eyes?_

_You’re never gonna smile_

_with the way that you’re wired,_

_and I feel so all alone._

_\----_

“That’s the last box,” Sam says, shoving it into the backseat and slamming the door shut before anything has the opportunity to fall out.

“Hey, gentle!” Dean scolds, whacking Sam on the arm. “She’s been out of work for a while.”

Sam snorts in a dignified fashion.

“That car has been through worse shit than a little door-slamming,” he says, but his eyes soften as they fall onto the Impala, looking shiny and beautiful as always (like Dean would take her out on the road looking less than perfect).

“I’ve missed her,” Sam says, reaching out with one hand to rest a few fingers gently on her hood. “I’ve kind of been telling myself that taking the BART and walking is easier, but...”

Dean cuts off his brother with a clap to the shoulder.

“You wanna take a drive for old time’s sake?” he asks.

They drive to the Pete’s and get coffee and then they just tool up and down the length of the street, sitting in comfortable silence and ignoring the other drivers. When Dean finally drops Sam off at the house, he takes a deep breath, thinks about making a big speech, and settles for, “I’ll call you when I get there.”

But Sam has big anime-eyes that are blinking tearily at him, so he opens up his arms and Sam dives in. It’s a big awkward because of the angle but Sam is snuffling like a girl into his shoulder and Dean can’t push him away.

“I just can’t believe you’re _leaving,”_ Sam sniffs, pulling away and wiping his eyes.

“Dude, I’m going a couple states away, I’m not _dying.”_ He winces apologetically when Sam actually flinches because yeah, that’s not exactly a sensitive thing to say to the guy who’s actually watched you die about a hundred times.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he says again.

“You better,” Sam says. He punches Dean roughly in the shoulder  and then gets out of the car. Melissa comes out of the house, holding June on her hip.

“I made you lunch,” she says, handing Dean a paper bag, and Dean doesn’t even have to check to know that it’s a BLT (with light L and extra B, the way he likes it).

“You’re the greatest,” he says, flashing her a smile. More seriously, he says, “Take care of my brother, Mel.”

“You know I will,” she says. “Say bye-bye to Dean, June!”

“Bye-bye, Dean,” June says mournfully, face blotted and red. Dean had already hugged and kissed her thoroughly inside, but she’d cried the whole time.

“Bye, Bug,” he waves, and then, “Bye, Sammy,” and he has to fight the lump that creeps up in his throat when he pulls out of the driveway and watches them in the rearview, Sam and the beautiful girl and the kid, the perfect family, everything he’s ever wanted for his brother.

He swallows his tears, and does what he does best: he drives.

\----

Dean drives for about twenty hours before spending the night in Denver, and he’s in Lawrence by three the next day. He’s been emailing his new landlord for a couple weeks now, and the key to his place is in the mailbox just like they discussed. The apartment is microscopic: a bedroom that basically only has enough room for a bed, a barely-there bathroom, and kitchenette attached to the living room. He’s not too stressed about it, since hopefully he’ll be on the road most days, but it does feel nice to have some semblance of a home, a place to come back to when he’s really wrecked.

It takes him exactly two hours to drag all his stuff up the two flights of stairs and unpack it all, and when he finishes, he stands in the center of the room and looks around himself appreciatively before hitting the papers.

There’s nothing local he can find (a couple weird deaths, but sometimes weird deaths are just that: weird) but when he branches out into more national papers he finds something good. With a big red pen, he circles **MYSTERIOUS MURDERS AND ANIMAL DEATHS RELATED? LOCAL AUTHORITIES REFUSE TO COMMENT**. It’s in Nebraska, a tiny little town called Weeping Water near Lincoln. He checks his watch; he can be there by eight at the latest if he shags ass and leaves right now. He packs a quick bag and he’s on his way.

\----

“FBI,” Dean says brusquely, flashing his badge at the sheriff. “Here to talk about the murder of Eloise Summers.”

“FBI?” the sheriff squints at his badge. “They sent another one? I talked to an agent just yesterday.”

Dean’s lips twitch in annoyance. Okay... that either means that there’s another hunter here or the _real_ feds are on the case. Either way, he’s got to tread carefully, because if there’s one thing hunters and feds both have in common, it’s territoriality.

“Just a routine follow-up,” Dean says, tucking his badge back into his jacket. “Now tell me a little bit about Eloise.”

After interviewing the sheriff and the coroner, as well as seeing the bodies of Eloise plus three other vics, the answer is undeniable: vampires. And dumb vampires at that. They’re messy and stupidly hungry, if the missing pet reports are anything to go on. Seems these vampires just want blood; don’t matter who or what it comes from.

He spends some time in the library, looking up abandoned farms and warehouses in the area, as well as doing a little questioning at the local bars, asking about big, loud groups who moved in recently. If these vampires are as stupid as he thinks they are, they’re probably not trying real hard to cover up their tracks.

He strikes gold when a bartender tells him that there’s a whole bunch of weirdos squatting at the old Cleveland place up the road.

“Dirty bunch of kids,” the bartender shakes his head. “They come in here sometimes, drink their collective weight in tequila before I kick ‘em out. There’s something real,” he shivers, “creepy about ‘em.”

Dean thanks the man and checks his watch. It’s after nine-- way too late to go after vampires. They’ll be at their strongest in just a few hours; he can hear Dad and Bobby and Sam in his head, screaming, “ _Wait for dawn, you idiot!_ ” But he doesn’t listen. He’s starving for a kill, anxious to get back into the world he’s left behind.

Getting into their nest is easy enough; they’re all gone, probably out drinking or eating somewhere. Hopefully they’ll come home drunk, making them easier to behead. Dean checks his pockets for the vials of dead man’s blood, and settles in to wait.

Unfortunately, he’s way out of practice.

The vampires get the jump on him before he can even pull out his gun. They must have seen his car where he stashed it a mile or so back, and they snuck up on him from behind and knocked him out with a piece of farm equipment (he thinks it might have been a hoe... goddamnit) before stringing him up against the wall. He counts four or five of them, three guys and a couple girls. One girl licks up his neck while they’re binding his hands and whispers, “It’s a good thing I’m not hungry, baby, or I’d tear you apart.”

“I’d love to see you try, sister,” he responds, although his heart is hammering. He hasn’t hunted alone in over a decade. It’s been a while since he’s been in danger and not felt at least a little bit assured that someone was going to show up and save him.

“I’m tired,” the other girl yawns. “Let’s decide what to do with him later.”

“Sounds good to me,” one of the male vampires grins and picks up the hoe again.

Dean realizes what he’s going to do about a split-second before he does it, and doesn’t even have time to call out, “No!” before the hoe is swinging and his whole world goes dark.

\----

He wakes up slowly, his vision black around the edges. He can hear something coming from the other side of the barn; raised voices? Gunshots? Maybe something else. There’s a loud yelp and a scream that sounds like the girl vampire that licked him, and someone is yelling. Then a few _schwings_ like the sound of a machete being swung very hard, and a couple thuds. Dean hopes it’s vampire heads hitting the ground. Then... silence.

His head hurts like a _motherfucker_ , and it’s a struggle to stay awake, but he’s desperate to know what’s happening.

“Hey,” he croaks, hoping whoever just decapitated those vampires can hear him. “Hey, back here!”

There are footsteps, growing louder as they get close to him. His potential rescuer rounds the corner.

Castiel says, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Dean passes out again.

\----

Dean’s eyes feel like they’ve been glued shut. His fists clench in something soft... sheets? He’s in a bed. How did he get into a bed?

He cracks an eye and regrets it immediately-- the sun is streaming in through the window right next to his face and it makes his head throb painfully. Dean scrunches his eyes shut again and pulls the soft sheets over his head.

“Where am I?” he tries to say, but it comes out more like, “Mmrgh?”

“Dean?” a voice says, and then there’s hands on him, pulling the sheets back and touching his face as well as the huge lump on the back of his head (the _hoe_ , Dean remembers with a surge of anger-- stupid vampires).

The pain reminds Dean of why he had passed out in the first place, and when his brain recalls the last thing he saw before his world went black, he almost pulls the sheets back over his head again. And has a horrible realization that he’s been in this bed before under very different circumstances.

“Dean, can you open your eyes?”

No, no, he does _not_ want to, but the voice sounds so desperate that Dean sighs and blinks and lets the world come into focus, and sitting next to the bed, looking terrified and upset is, of course, Castiel.

“Can you see me?” Castiel asks, his fingers still dancing across Dean’s forehead and the side of his face. “Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy at all?”

“No,” Dean growls, feebly trying to bat Castiel’s hands away. “I’m fine.”

“You are _not_ ,” Castiel argues.

“I’ve had worse, Cas,” Dean says, struggling to sit up in the bed, eyes searching the room for his shoes. “They whacked me a couple times with a hoe, big deal.”

“They hung you up by your wrists,” Castiel says. “Do you feel any pain in your--?”

“Stop babying me,” Dean barks. “I’m fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The worry slides off of Castiel’s face and is replaced by ice.

“Dean, those vampires almost killed you,” he says flatly.

“Did not,” Dean mutters. His head is feeling slightly less achy, so he throws the covers off of himself and swings his legs around to the side of the bed.

“Don’t get up!” Castiel yells.

“I’m _fine_!” he fires back, but when he plants his feet on the floor and stands, his entire world tilts and his vision goes fuzzy at the edges.

“ _Dean_!”

As he falls none-too-gently back onto the bed, he’s aware of Castiel’s hands underneath his armpits, hauling him back into a supine position and throwing the sheets back over him.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Castiel snaps as Dean’s world goes dark again. “I want you to be in perfect health when I kill you.”

But the words are softened when, as Dean is fading back into sleep, Castiel brushes a gentle hand across his forehead.

\----

“... going to get himself killed, Sam. You have to come out here and get him.”

Dean feels about a hundred times better the second time he wakes up. His eyelids don’t feel like they’re permanently glued to his face and the swelling on the back of his head must have gone down because he can no longer feel it.

“I know he won’t like it, but _I_ don’t like this! I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I’d arrived a few hours later, or if I hadn’t been on the hunt at all.”

Dean swings his feet over the side of the bed and feels triumphant when standing up doesn’t result in him swooning like some kind of damsel. He creeps on socked feet into the hallway, where Castiel is standing with his back towards the bedroom, talking on the phone.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Dean plucks the phone from Castiel’s hand and says into the receiver, “You can both stop talking about me like I’m a five-year-old now.”

Castiel’s faces clouds over and on the other end of the line, Sam sighs.

“Cas was just--” he begins, but Dean cuts him off, glaring at Castiel.

“I know what Cas was _just_ ,” he says. “You’re both trying to make my decisions for me because I slipped up _once_ my first day back on the job. Well, you can both forget it. You’re not my babysitters. I’m an _adult._ ”

“Give me the phone back,” Castiel grits.

“No,” Dean says petulantly.

“You’re not acting like an adult, Dean,” Sam says.

“Give it _back,_ ” Castiel lunges at him with grabby fingers, but Dean dodges him and throws himself down the stairs, Castiel on his heels.

Dean plays keep-away with the phone for at least twenty minutes before Castiel pins him up against the wall and wrenches the phone from his grip.

“Sam?” he says breathlessly, and Dean cannot believe that his stupid brother sat there on the line while Castiel chased him all over the house. “Yeah, I’ll call you back. No, I will not promise that. If I maim him it’s his own fault.”

Castiel throws the phone onto the counter and fixes Dean with the most murderous glare he’s ever seen.

“Sam and I discussed it,” he says, “and you’re not hunting.”

“Bullshit,” Dean says immediately.

 

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth.

“Dean,” he says through gritted teeth like the name pains him to speak. “I swear...”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Cas,” Dean says. “I want to hunt. I’m gonna hunt. Get over it.”

“No!” Castiel says. “I’m not just going to ‘ _get over it’_!” Dean is amused to see that Castiel still employs quote-fingers to get his point across. “You’re not a hunter anymore, Dean. You can’t just get back into the life because you want to!”

“I can do whatever I want!” Dean yells back, knowing how childish he sounds. “I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than you have, Cas--”

“Oh, really?” Castiel snaps. “Were you also a warrior of God for a millennia, Dean? Did I miss that somehow?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it,” Dean says. “You’ve been human for five years and you think you’re a goddamn expert. But you’re not.”

“Sam agrees with me,” Castiel says sanctimoniously. “Neither of us have any idea why you would want to hunt again, much less start out hunting with an entire nest of vampires!”

“They were monsters and they needed to be put down,” Dean says. “You expect me to ignore a case just because it sounds hard?”

Castiel makes a frustrated noise in his throat and fists his hands in his hair.

“By _yourself_ , _Dean_?” he practically screams.

“Who was I gonna call?” Dean thunders.

“No, don’t pull that,” Castiel says. “I know you talked to the sheriff, he told me he spoke to an Agent Plant. I know he told you there were already feds on the case. You _knew_ this was being taken care of!”

“Could’ve been actual feds,” Dean points out.

“Like feds investigate those kinds of murders,” Castiel says scornfully.

“Yeah, well, clearly you weren’t doing your job because I beat you to the nest!”

“I was _waiting for dawn_ , just like _you should have been_!”

Dean has to concede him that point. He hadn’t handled that case as elegantly as he could have, but damn Cas if he thought he could get away with telling Dean what to do.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says dismissively. “I’m going to keep hunting and you can’t stop me.”

“I can tie you up and put you in the panic room,” Castiel says.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Castiel says with a wicked smile.

Dean takes off.

There have to be at least a couple working cars in the scrapyard that he can take his chance with (his baby is probably still Nebraska) so he flings himself through the screen door and into the yard, and is running towards the nearest truck when he hears a sharp whistle and then he’s on the ground, Jonah the bloodhound situated on his chest, drooling onto his face. Dean doesn’t _think_ he screams like a little girl, but he can’t be sure. Moments later he feels weight on his legs-- most likely the labrador.

“Good boy, Jonah,” Castiel says approvingly, strolling up next to the dogpile and grinning down at Dean. “Esther, good girl.”

“Get these dogs off me,” Dean growls.

“Say you’ll stop hunting,” Castiel says.

“No,” Dean replies stubbornly.

Castiel studies his face for a moment, mouth twisted and eyes exasperated.

“Fine,” he says. “Say you’ll stop hunting _alone_.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue and his chest constricts painfully. “Who,” he begins, but his voice breaks. “Everyone I know is dead.” He tries his best not to sound like he’s about to cry. “Who could I call?”

Castiel’s eyes soften and he swallows. He has what looks like a full-scale argument with himself before he sighs and says, “Me.”

“Excuse me?” Dean says. He’s starting to lose feelings in his legs.

“I know it’s not what you want, Dean,” Castiel says tiredly. “But I don’t want to lock you up and I’m not going to let you kill yourself by hunting alone. So we’re hunting together. _Get over it_ ,” he mimics Dean’s earlier words, and then, with another whistle, he has the dogs leaping up and clambering over each other to get into the house.

Castiel offers him a hand and Dean accepts it, rubbing dog drool off his face.

“Do we have a deal?” Castiel asks.

Dean glares at him for a full minute before rolling his eyes and muttering, “Yeah. Whatever. Just don’t boss me around and we’ll be fine.”

He stomps back towards the house to raid Castiel’s fridge and is almost to the door before he notices that his car is sitting in the driveway. He gapes at it while Castiel breezes past him, his lips hinting at a grin.

“You drove my car all the way from _Nebraska_?”


	8. All Alright

**All Alright (7/10)**

_I've given everyone I know a good reason to go._

_But I came back with the belief_

_that everyone I love is gonna leave me._

_And I know, oh no, you've fallen from the sun._

_Crashing through the clouds, I see you burning out._

_And I know, oh no, that I put up a front,_

_but maybe, just this once, let me keep this one._

_And it's all alright. I guess it's all alright._

_I got nothing left inside of my chest,_

_but it's all alright._

_\----_

Dean remains obnoxiously belligerent towards Castiel during the first few months of their shiny new partnership; most conversations tend to end with bickering, Castiel swearing up and down that hunting alone is a quick way to an early grave, Dean yelling himself hoarse that he doesn’t need a babysitter. It isn’t until Castiel saves Dean from being sliced to ribbons by a particularly vicious werewolf that he has to grudgingly admit that having a partner again may not be the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

They go to a diner to stuff themselves full of pie (the ultimate cure to almost getting torn apart by half-wolf monsters) and Castiel is examining the menu with squinty eyes when Dean blurts out, “I know I’ve been kind of a brat lately.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. Dean sighs.

“I’m not gonna lie, Cas, I’m not--” Dean breaks off, on the brink of being ready to lay it all out, bare, for Castiel to accept or reject. “The last time we saw each other. Did you--?”

 

“Can we please just not talk about it?” Castiel begs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut in surprise, because this is one of the very few times in his life that he’s wanted to talk about something and been shut down, but if Castiel doesn’t want to talk about it, _fine._ He can forget about it. He can move on.

“Okay,” Dean says, dropping his eyes.

The waitress comes then with their pie, apple for Dean and cherry for Castiel, and without a word, Castiel pushes his plate across the table and looks at Dean defiantly, as if daring him to reject it.

Dean recognizes a peace offering when he sees one, and he takes a forkful of cherry pie, pushing his own piece of apple towards Castiel. The smile Castiel gives him is small, but deeply genuine.

After this, it’s almost shocking how quickly they slip into an easy routine of research and hunting, driving and sleeping and eating. There’s a familiarity between them that Dean almost thought was lost, an ease of friendship that he remembers from so, so long ago.

It only happens every so often that Dean catches Castiel’s eye over a salt-and-burn, or their arms brush as they’re walking in their fed getup to interview a vic, and Dean gets a shocking reminder of why, deep down, he’s still so angry. Dean’s been through Hell, literally, and been chased through Heaven by righteous angels, been ripped apart by hellhounds, and died more times than he cares to admit, so it’s just not fair that getting kicked out of bed by his best friend should hurt so much.

But it does. And Dean can’t forget. He can’t move on.

——

The taser goes off with a spark and Dean leaps aside to avoid getting barbecued. He’s had his heart fried before and he isn’t itching to try again. The rawhead goes down, twitching, and Castiel pockets the taser with a small smile before giving Dean a hand and hauling him to his feet.

“Good job,” Dean pants. “Let’s go get the salt from my car.”

They salt and burn the creature and hightail it out of town before anyone notices the smoke, and by the time they get back to Sioux Falls, it’s only nine and Dean is wide awake. On any other night, he would drive back to Kansas, to his own apartment, but something is holding him here tonight.

“Drink?” he asks Castiel, but he can tell before his friend even answers that Castiel is only thinking of his bed upstairs.

“Next time,” Castiel yawns. “I’m about to fall asleep standing up.”

“That couch is calling my name,” Dean says, heading towards the living room, figuring he’ll drink until he passes out, but Castiel grabs his arm and tows him up the stairs until they’re both in the bedroom and Castiel is slipping out of his shirt.

“That couch is bad for your back,” he says tiredly, and folds himself into the bed, leaving an entire side open for Dean.

Dean gulps but sheds his jeans and his boots and crawls in after him. He’s careful to make sure their bodies don’t touch, but he can feel the warmth of Castiel seeping across the small divide, and it takes him hours to fall asleep.

When he wakes up, Castiel is downstairs cooking breakfast, and they don’t talk about it.

——

A ghost hunt in California takes Dean and Castiel too close to San Francisco not to visit, so Dean calls Sam and tells him to expect two more for dinner.

Melissa is ecstatic about meeting Castiel, to the point where Sam has to draw her gently away because Castiel is starting to look alarmed. Dean resists the urge to remind his little brother how he stammered like a preteen with a crush the first time he shook Castiel’s hand.

After hugging and kissing June within an inch of her life to make up for the months away, he deposits her on the floor and plunks Castiel down next to her. When June shoves a little toy dog into his hand and he turns to look at Dean, baffled, Dean smirks and says, “Play.”

It’s _supposed_ to be hilarious, watching an ex-angel of the Lord attempt to connect with a precocious and bossy little three-year-old. But when he sees Castiel smile gently and walk the dog up June’s arm, Dean feels a pull in his heart that is way, _way_ too close to the four-letter-word-he-does-not-think-about.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and there’s Sam, looking incredibly smug, and Dean tries to wipe what he knows is an terribly sappy look off his face.

“You two feel like a date night?” he asks casually. “Cas and I could watch the Bug for you.”

Melissa and Sam practically flee the house.

——

Dean is amazed by how much June takes to Castiel. If he’d been asked before today, he would have thought that Castiel would be awkward and stiff around children, the same way he is around  most strangers. But he and June play on the floor for what seems like hours, and when it’s her bed-time, she absolutely _insists_ that Castiel is the one to put her in her pajamas and read her a story. Dean feels the tiniest little bit usurped until June demands a lullaby.

“Sing the sad-song-make-it-better song, Dean,” she orders sleepily, and there’s a lump in Dean’s throat as he croons a very off-key “ _Hey, June, don’t make it bad”_ and watches her eyes flutter shut. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her plump baby cheek, and when he straightens up Castiel is watching him with very sad eyes.

“What?” he whispers.

Castiel shakes his head. “I forget,” he says quietly, “how gentle you can be.”

“She’s a baby,” Dean mutters, leaving the room and pulling the door closed gently behind him. “What am I gonna do, throw her into her bed and slam the door?”

To Castiel’s credit, he does not rise to the argument that Dean is practically begging for. He just smiles one of his very quiet, private smiles and says, “You would be a very good father, Dean.”

Dean wants to punch him, then, because he tried to be a father once, and it ended in complete disaster. Castiel must get a look at his face, because he sighs.

“Don’t think about that, Dean,” he says. “Circumstances were completely against you--”

“Circumstances as in your demon buddy kidnapped them and traumatized them to the point where I had no choice but to erase myself from their minds?” Dean snaps, and it doesn’t take the look of absolute _pain_ that flashes across Castiel’s face to know he’s crossed a line and spoken of the things they’ve spent years walling off.

Castiel looks like he’s about to throw up, and Dean flings out an arm to catch him before he can run away.

“That was out of line,” he says regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“Every time I think we’re okay,” Castiel says, his voice low. “Every time... you say something like that and I just think--” He looks directly into Dean’s eyes and Dean hates  himself so wholly in this moment, knowing he put that look on Castiel’s face. “Are we ever going to be okay?”

“We _are_ okay,” Dean says, and he wants to write it in the sky. He doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with him, why he’s so insistent on hurting Castiel, even though they promised to forget about everything, including the night they spent together.

Castiel shakes his head and tries to pull away, but Dean holds him fast and pulls him back in, holding him in place with one hand on his arm and the other on his hip.

“Hey,” Dean says softly. “I’m serious. I’m... you know me, Cas, I’m an idiot. I say the dumbest shit. I’m sorry.”

Castiel is gazing at him and Dean suddenly realizes how close they’re standing and how warm Castiel’s hip feels under his hand and how easy it would be to just...

“You know those few days were the worst of my life, don’t you?” Castiel asks, his voice weak. “I regret everything that happened then, Dean, and I hate thinking about it, and I hate that no matter how much I atone, there are things I took from you  that I can never give back--”

Dean doesn’t think; he leans forward and presses his lips to Castiel’s, close-mouthed and chaste. Castiel freezes, but after a moment, his hand comes up to cup Dean’s cheek and Dean’s hand tightens on Castiel’s hip.

Castiel breaks away after a moment, and Dean chases his mouth, but Cas stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Don’t do this again, Dean,” he says. “It doesn’t work. It didn’t work the first time, it won’t--”

Dean doesn’t wait around to hear the rest of Castiel’s speech. His insides are already burning in embarrassment and frustration; he stalks down the stairs, being careful not to make too much noise, leaving Castiel in the dark hallway.


	9. One Foot

_But I will die for my own sins, thanks a lot._

_We’ll raise up ourselves thanks for nothing at all._

_I put one foot in front of the other one._

_I don’t need a new love or a new life, just a better place to die._

_\----_

Shockingly, Dean’s mishap doesn’t wreck the tenuous truce he and Castiel had built over the last few months, but he can feel Castiel looking at him carefully whenever they hunt together. He’s not sure entirely sure why, but it feels a little too close to pity for Dean’s taste, so he refuses to turn and meet Castiel’s gaze whenever he feels it, sure it will lead to more apologies and explanations of how Castiel can never be with him. Probably has to do with him being a repugnant human failure or something fun like that. Dean’s well aware he has nothing to give. He doesn’t need the reminder.

He throws himself pell-mell into hunting, barely taking twenty-four hours in between salt and burns. He hasn’t been back to his Kansas apartment in months; he spends most nights on the couch in the house in Sioux Falls. Sometimes Cas sleeps down there too, on nights they stay up late researching lore and end up passing out face-first in the dusty tomes.

One morning, Dean is sleepily drinking coffee in the kitchen when Castiel slams a very large book in front of him.

“I’ve been tracking some anomalies up the coast,” he says, flipping through some pages. “Odd lights in the sky, people going missing.” He quirks an eyebrow at Dean. “Miracles.”

“Miracles,” Dean repeats, still bleary-eyed.

“Yes,” Cas intones. “It sounds like angel activity.”

That gets Dean’s attention. There hasn’t been an angel sighting since before he retired. Since whatever happened with Castiel that left him graceless and human.

“How sure are you?” Dean asks.

Cas furrows his brow and appears to do some quick calculations.

“92.7 percent,” he says matter-of-factly.

Dean rolls his eyes. Even without grace, Castiel is still a show-off.

——

They’re ready to go once Cas has organized a friend to come by the house and feed the dogs, and they drive to North Carolina, the site of the last miracle. Apparently someone had nearly drowned in the Outer Banks, and when the lifeguard on duty had failed to resuscitate, a mysterious stranger had appeared and laid hands on the blue-lipped victim, who had immediately coughed up gallons of sea water.

Dean and Castiel don their fed suits to interview witnesses, and it isn’t until they visit the almost drowned person, who is still in the hospital for tests, that they get any answers.

“Her name was Ingrid,” says Katie Antonio, looking dreamy. Dean isn’t sure whether it’s the memory or the morphine clouding her eyes.

“She told you her name?” Castiel asks, pulling out a pen to take notes.

Katie tilts her head, confused. “No,” she answers. “I think I just… felt it. When she touched me. And she told me that if I needed her again, all I needed to do was call her name.”

Dean and Castiel share a significant glance.

“You know this Ingrid chick?” Dean asks as they leave the hospital.

Castiel nods quickly. He looks a little queasy, so Dean decides not to push until they’re checked into a motel room and have watched at least an hour of Jeopardy.

“So,” Dean says as Alex Trebek is shaking the winner’s hand.

Castiel sighs, but it’s clear he knows the conversation must be had, so he turns to face Dean, scrubbing a hand over his face in that same familiar gesture.

“I’ve met Ingrid,” he says. “Many years ago, she helped me with Metatron. We lost touch after…”

He trails off. Dean resists the urge to poke and prod, and waits patiently for Cas to finish.

Castiel’s spine stiffens and he says, “I haven’t seen her since I became human.”

“Woah,” Dean breathes. “Since you lost your grace?”

Castiel winces, and says carefully, “Since I became human.”

That’s a can of worms Dean can’t open right now, so he pretends that was a super normal way to answer a question and suggests that they try to find Ingrid first thing in the morning. They undress slowly without looking at each other, folding themselves into their separate beds. The space between them feels like a chasm that Dean could never cross, but just before he flicks off the light, Castiel says, “Good night, Dean,” and the hurt lessens, just a little.

——

Dean wakes with the sun, but Castiel has seemingly been up for hours, assembling ingredients for a summoning.

“Did you even sleep?” Dean grumbles, padding over to the coffeemaker and fiddling with the buttons.

“I slept enough,” Cas grunts, shaking bones out of a bag into a large wooden bowl. “I want to get this done.”

“Do we need holy oil?” Dean asks, gulping down his coffee and wincing at its bitterness. “I’ve got some in the trunk.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” Cas says, measuring out spoonfuls of a reddish powder. “Ingrid is a friend. I’m hoping she’ll cooperate.”

“Yeah, about that. What’s the plan here? We’ve confirmed this is angel business, but what does that mean for us?”

“If Ingrid is operating alone, it’s not an issue,” Castiel says, crushing what looks like basil leaves among the other ingredients. “But if angels are back on Earth, it means something is going on in Heaven, and we need to know.”

Castiel lights a match and tosses it into the bowl. The ingredients catch fire, emitting a sickly sweet smoke that curls into the air. There’s a whisper of wings on the air, and then Ingrid is standing before them, looking less surprised than Dean would expect.

“Castiel,” she says pleasantly, spreading her arms, “and Dean Winchester. Together again. How fortuitous.”

“Hello, Ingrid,” Castiel says. Dean just jerks a head in her direction. She seems peaceful but these angel types can turn on a dime and Dean is ready to spring into action should that occur. “Can I ask what you’re doing on Earth? We haven’t seen angels here in years.”

“I’m not a representative of Heaven, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ingrid smiles gently. “But It’s been chaos there for years, and it’s actually quite relaxing being here among humans. I’m finally seeing things from your perspective, Castiel.”

“Thank you,” Cas says. “I’m… glad to hear that.”

“And you don’t need to worry,” Ingrid continues. “They have no idea where you are, and your grace is safe.”

Dean whips his head to look at Cas, who is suddenly looking very tense.

“Thank you,” Castiel repeats, stiffer this time. “Be careful, Ingrid. You drew attention to yourself with this miracle and that’s not acceptable. If you’re going to live on Earth you must live as a human.”

In that moment, Dean is reminded that Castiel used to be a general. Despite the fact that Ingrid could smite both of them in two seconds without breaking a sweat, she defers to this instruction and nods, her chin at her chest in a slight approximation of a bow.

“It was nice to see you again,” Ingrid says to Castiel, and she even smiles gently at Dean before vanishing, the sound of fluttering wings heralding her exit.

“Well, that was…” Dean pauses, “… anticlimactic.”

“It went as well as one could hope,” Castiel snaps. “Are you disappointed it didn’t end in bloodshed?”

Dean holds up his hands in defense. “No, man. I’m just saying. She was awfully agreeable.”

Castiel shrugs. “If she was lying, we’ll know soon enough. But it’s good to know she’s operating alone.”

“Sure is,” Dean nods. “I’ve fought enough angels for several lifetimes, thanks very much.” He pauses, wondering if this is the right time, then just decides to go for it. “Speaking of…”

“Don’t,” Cas says tiredly, climbing onto his bed. “I know what you’re going to say, and don’t.”

“What, I’m just supposed to ignore what she just said?” Dean gapes. “She said your grace is _safe_ . Like, as in _she knows where it is._ As in, _we could get it back_.”

“No, we can’t,” Castiel snaps.

“Why not?”

“We can’t, Dean.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because!” Castiel shouts. “If I have my grace, the angels who want to put me on trial in Heaven can find me, and then they can have me executed.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut. Castiel is trying to glare at him, but he just looks tired.

“They want you executed?” Dean asks finally. “Cas… why—why didn’t you tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas sighs.

“Cas, it _does_ matter. We could ward you against them, we could fight them off. If it meant having your grace back, I mean… isn’t it worth it?”

“I’m sorry I’m not as powerful an ally without my grace, Dean,” Castiel says, avoiding his eyes.

“That’s not at _all what I meant_ , and you know it _—”_

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you anytime you get a scratch—”

“Would you stop it? I don’t care about that—”

“I thought you would understand that my _potential execution_ would merit staying human for a while—”

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean barks, and Castiel finally shuts up. “I don’t give a shit how powerful you are. I just want you to be happy and you’re the most miserable piece-of-shit human I’ve ever met.”

Castiel glares at him, but the ire is gone.

“I’m not miserable,” he says, miserably.

The fight has gone out of Dean, too, and he sags onto the bed, energy spent.

“I just,” he begins.

“Dean,” Cas tries to interrupt.

“Let me finish, Cas. Yes, I want you to have your powers, but that’s because _you’ve_ always wanted to have your powers. Can you look me in the eye and tell me, honestly, that you’re completely happy being human?”

Castiel stands. He walks to Dean slowly, every step deliberate. He leans down and looks Dean square in the face. For a moment, he’s sure Castiel is going to go absolutely ballistic on him, but then his eyes soften.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Being human is exhausting. It’s dirty, and it hurts, and I’ve got scars now that I can never make smooth. I’m terrified every day that if I make one wrong move, I’ll wind up dead and none of it will have mattered anyway.”

“Wow, Cas, sure sounds like a barrel of laughs—”

Cas literally puts a hand over Dean’s mouth to shut him up. Dean tries to play it cool, but he can hear his heart pounding out of his chest, having Cas so close. He wonders if Cas can hear it, too.

“But,” Castiel says solemnly. “I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”

He removes his hand from over Dean’s mouth, but he doesn’t lean back. They sit staring at each other for a moment.

“I’m happy,” Castiel whispers.

Dean swallows. “Okay. Okay, I believe you.”

It’s only then that Castiel straightens up, but just before he does, his hand darts out like he’s going to touch Dean’s cheek, but before Dean can react, Castiel is retreating to his side of the room, and Dean can’t be sure he didn’t imagine it.

They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the crackle of the summoning ingredients, still smoldering in their bowl.


	10. Stars

_If you're out here, why do I miss you so much?_

_I feel like I had it all back before I lost it all._

_Now I just wait for you to talk to me,_

_but you won't even look at me, baby._

_You're always holding on to stars._

_I think they're better from afar,_

_‘cause no one is gonna save us._

_Oh, and me, well, I have faded in the dark._

_So don't you ever kiss me, don’t you wish on me,_

_why can't you see that no one's gonna save us?_

_\----_

They’re fine, for a while. The breaking point comes not during a hunt, like Dean expects, but when he and Cas are just sitting in the bar in Sioux Falls, the same bar that they went to the night they— well, Dean’s been here before. They’re chatting amiably, discussing the various ways they prefer to get rid of a ghoul infestation, when the door swings open and a man walks in. He’s built kind of like Dean, but his hair is a much darker brown and his face rounder, open and friendly. He strolls up to their table, and Dean’s about to tell him to get lost, they don’t need any Bibles or vacuum cleaners, when he notices that Castiel is smiling at the man, a real smile, a welcoming one.

“Hey, Cas,” the intruder says casually. “Haven’t seen you ‘round much lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says. “Traveling, for work.”

“You work too much,” the man says, but he says it like its a private joke, and Cas chuckles warmly.

Dean tries to fight back the wave of jealous nausea before it can hit him, but it crashes down with the weight of a thousand tons and he can almost feel the vibrations of _go away, go away_ that are probably radiating off of him.

The asshole finally notices him and extends a hand. “Mark,” he says. “Nice to meetcha.”

Dean tries to crush the guy’s fingers but is unsuccessful. “Dean,” he grits out.

“Dean and I used to work together,” Castiel says.

“Oh, for the government, right?” Mark asks. “Don’t worry, Cas already told me it’s all classified and top secret and that I shouldn’t even ask.”

Dean responds with a tight smile that he’s sure makes him look constipated.

“Well I’ll let y’all get back to your drinks,” Mark says. “Cas, give me a ring sometime, all right? You’ve still got my number?”

And it could just be that Dean’s seeing green, and that he’s more than a little drunk, but he could swear that when Mark says ‘my number’, his voice dips a little lower, a little intimate.

“I do, Mark,” Cas says. “I’ll make sure to call you next time I’m craving Jaeger.”

Mark laughs, and it’s a fucking inside joke again, and that asshole is so lucky Dean doesn’t want to stab anyone tonight, because he’d be first on Dean’s list. Mark saunters away and Dean’s sure he’s swaying his hips slightly more than necessary, but his jaw drops when he realizes Cas is watching.

“So, you prefer gun headshots, right?” Cas tries to jump back into their conversation from earlier, but Dean is so over ghouls and so onto _Mark_.

“Who was that?”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“A friend, Dean.”

“Seemed like more than a friend to me, _Cas_.”

Castiel sighs, downs the last inch of his drink, and grabs his coat, heading out of the bar and into the night. Dean follows him sullenly. They walk back to Castiel’s house, having left the car at home, and they’re both silent for about ten minutes before Dean explodes.

“I’m serious, what’s your deal with that dude?”

Castiel sighs again, but louder this time.

“It’s not _any_ of your business,” he says. “But since I know you’re not going to stop bugging me, fine. I went on _one_ date with him, a few months ago.”

“How many months,” Dean demands, alcohol slurring his words and making him louder than he needs to be.

“Dean—”

“ _How many months?_ ”

Castiel hesitates, and then he says, “Four.”

“So after we,” Dean starts, but he can’t continue. There’s a lump in his throat that tastes like acid and if he opens his mouth he’s going to vomit or cry and he refuses to do either in front of Cas right now.

Blissfully, Castiel ignores the last thing he said, and keeps walking, but Dean stops.

He knows he has absolutely no right to feel upset. He and Cas didn’t work out, for hundreds of thousands of reasons, and he wants Cas to be happy, so why shouldn’t he date? Why shouldn’t he go on nice dates with guys with big smiles who care about him, who ask him questions about himself, who want to get to know him? Why does the idea of that make Dean want to curl up right here on the sidewalk and die?

“Dean?” Cas says.

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but the acid rises and before he knows it, he’s puking in the bushes like a frat kid after a beer bong.

“Oh, Dean,” he hears Cas say, and he _hates_ the way Cas is saying his name, laced with pity. He feels Cas lift his arm so he’s half-carrying him through the streets, and by the time they make it home, Dean just wants to sleep and forget any of this happened.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Cas says, but Dean, with all his drunk might, shoves Castiel away.

“What the hell?” Cas says, shocked. “Dean, let me—”

“Don’t touch me,” Dean says, swaying slightly, knowing everything is coming out wrong but powerless to stop it.

Castiel is silent for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is poison. “Why not.”

“You touched him,” Dean mutters. “I don’t want—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You got what you needed from me,” Dean says defiantly, his eyes meeting Castiel’s.

Cas’s face is stricken and horrified. “Is that what you think?”

“Go ahead,” Dean says, turning away, heading for the couch. “Fuck all of Sioux Falls. Fuck the whole damn state of South Dakota if you want to. I don’t care.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel says, and if Dean wasn’t literally in the middle of passing out, he would hear the hurt and tears in Castiel’s voice. As it is, he’s already being swallowed up by darkness, and everything is lost to oblivion.

When he opens his eyes in the morning, both his hangover and the shame from last night hit him at the same time. He wants to roll over and go back to sleep. He wants to go upstairs and tell Cas he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean it, any of it, that he hates himself for being that cruel.

He doesn’t do either of those things. He sneaks out, the sun barely light in the sky. He gets in the Impala and drives back to his apartment in Kansas, and he hides.

——

When the call comes, it’s proof that Dean was in retirement too long. He sees Nick’s name pop up on his phone and he doesn’t immediately panic.

“Hey, man! It’s been a while.”

Silence.

“Uh, Nick? You there? Did you butt-dial me, you asshole?”

There’s a few short staticky noises, like a phone is being passed from hand to hand, and there’s a long guttural sob.

A chill goes down Dean’s spine.

“Nick? Nick, buddy, are you okay? Can you say something? Should I call 9-1-1? Nick!”

“Oh, Dean.”

It’s Nick, but something is wrong. His voice, usually bright and buoyant, slips through the phone speakers like smoke. It takes Dean too long to put it together, but when he does, his heart plummets into his shoes.

“How long?”

“Don’t burst into tears just yet, Dean-o. When you knew him, he was all Nicky. But I’ve been riding around him for a few months now while you’ve been off finding yourself or whatever. And speaking of riding…”

The phone moves again, and Dean hears the whimpering.

“D-dean?” It’s Jude. _God damnit_ , it’s Jude. “Dean, what’s… what’s going on?”

“Jude, don’t worry,” Dean rushes, sliding his feet into his boots and glancing around frantically for his keys. He hears Jude start to sob brokenly. “Jude! Listen, I’m on my way. We’re going to get Nick back, I promise. I swear to you, we’re going to get him back.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Nick’s sing-song voice is back.

“Just leave him alone, you black-eyed bastard. I’m coming. You’ll get what you want. Just leave Jude alone.”

“Make me, Dean.” And the line goes dead.

——

Dean’s been driving for hours before his mind clears enough that he thinks to call Castiel. They haven’t spoken since their fight but Dean knows it would piss both Cas and Sam off if he went into this without backup.

Cas doesn’t pick up. Dean almost hangs up out of sheer frustration, but he takes the high road and leaves a message.

“Hey, it’s Dean. A demon has one of my friends. I told you about ‘em, Jude and Nick. The couple. The demon’s got Nick and he’s keeping Jude as a hostage, or bait or whatever to get me out there. I know you wouldn’t want me to, but I’m going. I have to try to save them. And I’d, uh… I’d appreciate if you would have my back. I have to do this, but I’ll feel better if you’re doing it with me.” He pauses. “Anyway, I don’t know when you’ll get this, but it’s uh,” he checks, “About two, on Saturday. I’ll be there by afternoon tomorrow.” He pauses again, knowing what he wants to say but not sure it’s the time to say it. “I… well. I hope I’ll see you there, Cas.”

He tosses the phone down on the seat next to him and floors it, the speedometer needle edging into 80. He only hopes he can get there in time.

——

He pulls up to Nick and Jude’s house around noon. He only stopped once to get fast food, but he hasn’t slept, so his vision is swimming and he feels a little like his head is full of cotton balls. He used to drive through the night all the time back in the day… just more proof he’s getting too old to keep doing this.

 _Maybe this is really my last case_ , Dean thinks as he sneaks around the side of the house, gun drawn. _Maybe I’ll actually retire after this_.

Bingo. There’s a sizable shed in the backyard of the house. It’s like a demon’s hostage dream come true. Only one entrance, so it’ll be pretty hard to take it by surprise. He does see a window, so he sneaks over to it, peeking carefully inside. Sure enough, Jude is tied to a chair, his face bloodied, a rag shoved into his mouth. He looks unconscious.

Still peering carefully around, Dean edges into the shed, checking all the corners and crannies to make sure Nick is lurking waiting to ambush him. The shed is empty save for Jude.

Dean drops to his knees and starts untying Jude’s legs, moving onto the arms, and finally pulling the gag out of his mouth. Jude slumps forward and Dean catches him.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says, giving Jude a gentle shake. “Jude, wake up.”

Jude stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

“Dean?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean breathes, relieved.

Jude chuckles softly. “I knew you’d come,” he croaks.

His eyes flash black.

Dean isn’t sure what happens next, except that he suddenly can’t breathe. His clutch on Jude loosens, and he topples backwards onto his ass. Except he can’t feel it. He can’t really feel anything. It’s only when he looks down and sees the long blade protruding from his body that he realizes that his lungs are slowly filling with blood.

The demon stands up fluidly. “That was almost too easy,” it declares. “You’re disturbingly out of practice.”

Dean is scrabbling at the blade in his chest but his hands feel too big, too heavy and slow.

“Or is it,” the demon continues, stroking its cheek, “that you were never that good, and it was always Sam, or Cas, or your dad covering your ass?” It looks down at Dean, and smiles.

“Oh, is that bothering you?” it asks, and with one swift yank, it pulls out the blade. Blood spurts from Dean’s chest and mouth.

Dean tries to take a deep breath. “Where…” he rasps, “… Nick…”

The demon rolls its eyes. “I left Nick’s body in fine condition. He’s in the bathtub. If someone can get to him quick enough, he probably won’t bleed out.”

The demon kneels down next to him and traces Dean’s cheekbone with the blade.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be the one to kill you,” it says quietly, and with one quick motion, it slits Dean’s throat.

There’s more blood, Dean is sure, but he can barely tell what’s going on. His vision is starting to vignette around the edges, like an old movie.

“Sam,” he tries to say, but it just comes out a bloody croak. He closes his eyes. He thinks, _Cas._

_Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we didn’t get to make up. I’m sorry I was never a good friend to you. Never a good anything._

Nothing even hurts anymore. He can feel himself going somewhere else. He wonders what Heaven is like for humans now. It’s been years since he was there. Tears prick his eyes. He won’t get to see Sam and Melissa get married. He won’t see Junebug grow up.

_I never got to tell him. I never got to—_

“Bye-bye, Dean,” the demon says.

From very far away, Dean hears a crash, and yelling. The yelling doesn’t sound like English.

Now there’s a lot of screaming. Dean thinks maybe some of it is the demon. The screaming is getting closer and closer, and suddenly Dean feels pressure on his chest.

“Dean! Dean!” Someone is shouting.

Dean cracks open his eyes. Through the blur and the blood, he sees Cas. Cas, screaming his name, pressing his chest. Dean tries to comfort him, tell him nothing hurts, but it’s just a burble.

“Don’t try to talk,” Cas says. His eyes are filled with tears. “Dean, hold on. Please, hold on.”

“I’m dying, Cas,” he tries to say.

Cas shushes him, but it’s gentle, his hand cupping Dean’s cheek.

Then Sam is on his other side. “The demon is taken care of,” he tells Cas hurriedly. He looks down at Dean, his face stricken. “Dean, stay with us.”

 _This is how I’ve always wanted to go_ , Dean thinks, _with Sam on one side and Cas on the other._

But then Cas is gone, for some reason. There’s yelling again, but it’s different this time.

“Inias! Ingrid! Inias! _Inias_ ! Ingrid, _please_!”

The recognizable flutter of wings.

“Castiel. It’s nice to see you.”

“Heal him.”

“Castiel—”

“ _Heal. Him.”_

 _“_ Please,” Sam is saying weakly. “He’s dying.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” That’s Cas again. “What the _fuck_ do you mean?”

“We’re banned from interfering with Winchesters. You know that, Castiel.”

“I don’t care. He’s going to die if you don’t do something.”

“Then he’ll die, Castiel. Humans die. That’s what happens.”

There’s a long pause, but then Castiel says, “Then bring me my grace.”

“Castiel…”

“Bring it to me like you said you would when I asked.”

“You know what this means. If you reunite with your grace and heal him, they will find you. Almost immediately. You’ll be taken—”

“ _GO._ ”

Dean slips briefly into unconsciousness, but Sam shakes him awake with a yell, and moments later, Castiel is kneeling beside him, holding a glowing blue vial.

“No,” Dean tries to say. He raises a large, clumsy hand and tries to grab the vial.

_They’ll take you away. They’ll kill you._

Dean takes a shallow breath. “You said,” he chokes out, coughing through the blood in his throat. “You wouldn’t… trade it… for anything.”

Castiel’s throat works, like he’s holding back a sob. “That’s what I thought,” he says. “I thought I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He leans down and kisses Dean’s bloody lips, just once, so quickly it barely feels real. “I was wrong. Shut your eyes, Sam.”

He smashes the vial on the ground. For a long moment, blue energy surrounds Castiel, and before it’s even finished coursing back into him, he’s laid his hands upon Dean’s wounds.

Warmth surges through Dean’s body, his bones, his organs, and he gulps fresh air. His vision clears and now he can see Castiel, human no more, his wings a shadow on the back wall of the shed.

“You idiot,” is the first thing Dean says. Castiel chuckles and places a hand on his cheek. Dean sits up, taking deep breaths. “Cas, he says. “Cas, I—”

The sound of wings, and Castiel is yanked unceremoniously off the ground.

“Castiel,” barks a woman in a pinstripe suit who has ahold of one of Cas’ arms. “Now that you have been reunited with your grace, we are summoning you to stand trial in Heaven.”

A large man, also wearing a suit, has Castiel’s other arm.

“Wait a second,” Dean says, and he scrambles to get off the floor. Sam helps him, keeping a firm hand under Dean’s elbow. “Stop. You can’t take him.”

“We can and we are,” the man says.

“Leave him alone,” Sam says, and he and Dean start for the angels.

“Inias, Ingrid,” the woman calls, and suddenly the angels are at their side, holding Sam and Dean back.

“What the fuck— get off!” Dean shouts, but Inias has a firm hold on him.

“Dean, don’t fight,” Castiel says in a soft voice. His lips are still red with Dean’s blood.

“Fuck that,” Dean grunts. “Let him go!”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Castiel says. Sam is still fighting Ingrid, but he seems defeated. Dean starts fighting even harder.

“Cas! No!”

Castiel turns to him.

“Dean,” he says. “I—”

Sam and Dean fall onto the dirt floor of the shed. The angels are gone.

“ _Cas! No!”_

_——_

An hour later, the paramedics have been called, Nick has been rushed into an ambulance, and Jude is talking to the police, covered in a shock blanket. When Sam and Dean woke him after being exorcised, he hadn’t remembered much, only that Nick had some kind of psychotic break and tried to lure Dean to the house.

“It wasn’t Nick,” Dean said. “The thing that was inside him, it’s gone now. I promise.”

Jude shudders. “It was inside of me, too, wasn’t it?”

Dean nods. He has no idea what Jude is telling the police, but they look very sympathetic so Dean imagines it must be good.

It’s only when he doesn’t have Jude to focus on that Dean’s brain starts to process what happened, and his knees get so weak he would collapse if Sam wasn’t there to catch him.

“Let’s go home,” he says, guiding Dean to the Impala. “I’ll drive.”


	11. Out On The Town

_ I knew there'd come a day when all was said and done, _

_ everything I was is everything but gone, _

_ all my big mistakes are bouncing off your wall, _

_ the bottles never break, the sun will never come, _

_ so come on let me in, I will be the sun, _

_ I will wake you up, I am who I was, _

_ Just open up your heart. _

_ \---- _

_ One Month Later _

Every day is easier than the next, but there’s still a weight on Dean’s chest that won’t lift, no matter how many long talks he has with Sam or hugs he gets from Melissa or lullabies he sings to June. He’s given up his apartment in Lawrence and is back with his brother and his soon-to-be-sister-in-law (if Sam ever musters up the courage to ask her properly).

He focuses a lot of his energy on Nick and Jude, making sure they’re all right and not going out of their minds with the knowledge of what goes bump in the night. Dean actually calls some of his old contacts and there are apparently therapists for this sort of thing now, discrete doctors who blend their knowledge of human psychology with demonology and monstrophy and cryptozoology. Nick and Jude see one such doctor now, and have informed Dean that she’s very helpful, which eases the guilt in his chest just a notch.

Sam finally proposes to Melissa over breakfast one morning, with just the four of them. The ring is actually inside an egg (how Sam pulled that off, Dean may never know) and Melissa accidentally cracks it into the waffle batter. They all crack up and Melissa swats Sam on the shoulder and sucks the batter off the ring before sticking it on her finger herself.

“It’s about time,” she says to Sam before kissing him. He dips her and June shrieks with glee and if Dean gets a little choked up, nobody has to know. Okay, they all know, because he’s openly crying into his napkin, and the four of them squeeze together into a group hug that makes him feel like he can finally breathe.

Dean’s phone buzzes on the table.

“That’s probably Nick,” he says, accepting the call without looking at it. “He said he’d call when they—”

“Hello, Dean.”

“When they what?” Sam asks, but Dean doesn't answer. He can barely breathe.

“Cas?” he practically croaks.

“Cas?” Sam repeats behind him.

“How… how is this… are you back, are you—”

“I’m back in Sioux Falls, yes. I, uh, just arrived. From Heaven.”

“The trial,” Dean says, still dumbfounded.

“Oh, yes, there was a trial,” Cas says. “But… well, apparently many angels testified on my behalf. That I was valuable to Earth as a human.”

“So you’re—”

“Graceless, again, yes. But this time it’s gone. It’s really gone.”

Castiel’s voice is flat, but he doesn’t sound sad, so Dean has no idea how to react.

“Um,” he says.

“So I just wanted to let you know,” Cas cuts in quickly. “If you need help on a hunt or something. I’m, you know. Here.”

“I haven’t been hunting since—” Dean says.

“Oh! Well then. Never mind. Congratulations.”

“No, I just meant that—”

“Look me up if you’re ever in the area,” Cas says shortly. “Goodbye, Dean.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Dean hangs up the phone and turns to Sam, who is looking at him expectantly.

“Cas is alive,” he says hoarsely.

“Dean, that’s great!” A laugh bubbles out of Sam’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles slowly and scratches the back of his neck.

“So, what now?”

“Huh?”

“When are you leaving?” Sam asks eagerly.

Dean gives him a blank look. “Sam, I’m not going anywhere.”

The smile slips off of Sam’s face, and looking over his shoulder at Melissa and June who are putting chocolate chips in the waffle batter, he drags Dean into the front hallway.

“What do you mean you’re not going anywhere?”

“Where would I go?” Dean asks.

“ _ To Sioux Falls _ !” Sam practically shouts. “Please don’t tell me you’re this dumb, Dean. I  _ know _ you’re not this dumb.”

“Explain yourself or shut up, Sam,” Dean says irritably.

“Go. Get. Cas,” Sam says through gritted teeth. “Get in your car. Drive to Sioux Falls. And tell Cas you’re in love with him. Dean... it’s time for the Big Romantic Gesture.”

“Sam--”

“No, listen!” Sam stands suddenly, and he really is huge; Dean feels absolutely dwarfed by his baby’s brothers fury. “I have been watching you and Cas be absolutely stupid for each other for  _ years _ and if you think I’m going to sit back while he gives everything for you  _ again  _ and you keep pretending it doesn’t mean anything, I swear--”

“He made his feelings about me very clear, just now on the phone,” Dean says stiffly.

“He was probably scared, Dean!” Sam says. “Just like you’ve been since you met him! You’re both terrified of actually admitting that you’d give anything for each other, but I’m not letting you run away from this again!”

Dean’s mouth is dry; he tries to protest,  _ no, no, you don’t understand, it’s not like that,  _ but he knows, suddenly, that he’s wrong. Sam is right. You don’t choose humanity for a guy you’ve got a passing interest for.

“Okay,” Dean says. “Okay. I’m leaving.”

Sam lets out a big sigh of relief. “Thank  _ God. _ I was worried I was going to have to tie you up and throw you in your trunk and drive you there myself.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare touch my car.”

“I would, and that’s how you know how serious I am about this.”

Sam is pushing Dean towards the door with very little gentleness, and as he grabs the keys from the side table, Dean puts out a hand to halt him.

“What if--” Dean stops, swallows, asks quietly, “what if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want me?”

The look Sam gives him would be comical if this were any other situation.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” he says gently. “But if it is, I’ll be here, Dean.” He smiles. “You’ll be okay.”

——

Dean drives. It’s hours and hours, but strangely it’s the most relaxed Dean has been in months, maybe years. Most of the time when he drives across the country, it’s on no sleep and bad food and usually to save the world or something, but this trip feels different. He’s in a hurry, but he’s not rushed, and he spends the long hours listening to his favorite songs and looking at the scenery with more appreciation than he usually does.

He drives through the night to Nevada and buys pancakes and coffee. He tips the waitress 100%, and she actually runs to catch him in the parking lot so she can give him a hug. He stops in Salt Lake City and goes to the Great Salt Lake and thinks about how it reminds him of Castiel’s eyes. In Casper, Wyoming he takes pictures of the mountains for Sam and Melissa and June, and splurges on a nice hotel so that when he sees Cas tomorrow, it won’t be on two hours of sleep under a moth eaten blanket. He wants tomorrow to feel different, like a beginning.

The drive from Wyoming to South Dakota feels like minutes, even though it still takes most of the day. Strangely, the closer he gets to Sioux Falls, the calmer he feels. When he left Palo Alto, his heart was hammering and he was sure this trip would end in disaster, heartbreak, and other cliches that would turn his heart to coal forever. But as he draws closer, racing the sun across the midwest, he thinks about Castiel’s hands on him as he lay broken, his blood on Castiel’s lips, they way they never said the words they both clearly wanted to. About how he’s always thought the only way to make Cas happy was to make him feel powerful, and how maybe there were other ways to make Cas happy, to make them both happy, that they never tried.

The sun is sitting gently on the horizon when he pulls up to the house, giving the cars in the junkyard an orange glow. The dogs raise their heads to him, and he goes over to scratch their ears and rub their heads.

“Where’s your dad, huh?” he says, and they just pant at him, smiling. “He wouldn’t leave you out if he wasn’t home, right?”

Dean moves towards the door, but stops. If he’s gonna do this, he’s gonna do it right.

He scoops up a fistful of gravel, finds what he thinks is the window to Castiel’s room, and starts pitching tiny pebbles up at the house. The stones make tiny clinks against the glass, and when no one immediately emerges, he feels a rush of panic. What if Cas isn’t even in his room? What if he saw the Impala pull up and he’s hiding? What if this damn window has a screen? What if—?

The window slides open, and Castiel leans his upper body out, propping his arms on the sill.

“Dean?”

He looks confused, but not angry or upset, which Dean will take.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, seemingly genuinely curious.

“Oh,” Dean says, letting the rest of the rocks fall from his grasp. “Um… this is what they do in movies.”

“In movies?” Cas tilts his head, and Dean is punched in the chest with a big sweeping wave of  _ love _ for this funny, beautiful, bird-like angel-turned-human.“I’ve seen some movies, you know. I don’t remember this happening.”

“In movies when people, uh,” Dean scratches the back of his neck. “When they’re confessing.”

The corners of Castiel’s mouth tip up slightly.

“What are you confessing?” he asks.

Dean’s mouth is dry. “That I…”  _ Love you _ . “I, um.”  _ Love you _ . “I’m sorry.”

Castiel looks taken aback. “For what?”

Dean shrugs, grinning a little. “The past fifteen years, I guess?”

“Dean,” Castiel protests.

“No, let me just…” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’ve been… difficult, and I know I’m too guarded  and I don’t tell you enough how much you mean, how much you’ve always meant, to me and Sam, but especially to me. I made you feel like you weren’t worth anything without wings, and that’s on me. But just know that… I’ve always wanted— always wanted to tell you that I’m…”

He glances up. Castiel is frozen, his eyes wide.

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says. And then it’s there. He can almost see it, floating between them, silver in the dying sun.

He doesn’t want to see Castiel’s reaction, so he squeezes his eyes shut. But when Cas doesn’t say anything for a few moments, he looks back up. The window is empty, and shut. He feels he breath go out of his lungs, feels like the world is dropping out from beneath him. He needs to get back in his car and drive, possibly forever, but then he hears the bang of the screen door, and he turns. Castiel is sprinting towards him. Dean thinks he’s going to crash right into him, but he stops just short, and he doesn’t seem to know what exactly to do.

“Say it again,” he demands, his brow furrowed adorably. Dean doesn’t have it in him to refuse.

“I love you,” he says simply.

Castiel reaches out and fists the front of Dean’s shirt, drawing him close, but still seeming wrong-footed and confused.

“You love me?” he whispers.

“I love you,” Dean says, and wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, pulling their bodies flush up against each other.

“How many times do I have to say it,” Dean murmurs, “before you say it back?”

And then Castiel is on him, practically climbing him, like he’s trying to get as close as humanly possible, kissing him like he's drowning and Dean is the light that glimmers when you look up from the bottom of the sea.

“I love you,” Castiel is saying in between kisses, over and over again.

Dean laughs, loud and bright, his arms and heart full, and Castiel stops his kiss attack to gaze at him in wonder.

“I love you,” he says again, looking Dean in the eye, and then he laughs, too. “I… I never thought I would get to say it.”

“I never thought  _ I  _ would get to say it!” Dean says, and then they’re both laughing, near hysterically, and then they’re kissing again, with such fervor that Dean nearly lifts Castiel off his feet.

They break apart, panting slightly, and Castiel’s eyes flick back and forth, all over, like he’s trying to look at all of Dean at once. The sun disappears over the edge of the horizon and Dean sees the last amber light wash over Castiel’s face. He presses his forehead to Castiel’s and revels in the act, cherishing every move he makes that Castiel accepts and mirrors.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and there’s a flicker of something there that scares him a little bit. “I don’t want— I mean, are you sure…”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean says, cupping Castiel’s face in his hands and making Cas look at him. “I love you and you love me and that’s all there is.”

Cas reaches up and touches Dean’s face with the tips of his fingers, and the tenderness almost breaks Dean’s heart. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” he says quietly. “I’m not… I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” Dean shrugs.

“So what are we going to do?” Cas asks. “When it gets difficult? When you get distant and I get resentful? How will we survive?”

Dean looks at Castiel, his best friend, the man who would lay down his life to protect him, for whom Dean would gladly do the same.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “The only thing I know is that I’ve spent too many days without you, and every single one of them has been worse than the days I’m with you, and that includes the ones where we’ve fought, the ones I’ve been pissed at you, and the ones you’ve been pissed at me. I figure the rest of it,” he shrugs again, “we take one day at a time.”

Castiel looks at him seriously for a moment, then smiles, slow at first but quickly beatific. “One day at a time,” he repeats. “Let’s do it.”

Dean just has to kiss him again, and Castiel melts into him, and they stand there together until the sky is completely dark and the stars wink down at them, as if they know what’s finally happened, in a junkyard in Sioux Falls, after fifteen years of living and fighting and dying and leaving and coming back. Maybe they do.

Castiel breaks away, and Dean chases his mouth, but Cas stops him with a chuckle and a hand to his chest.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his eyes glowing like the stars.

“No,” Dean says, but his traitorous stomach chooses that exact moment to growl.

“I guess I could eat,” he admits.

“Let’s call for takeout,” Cas says, and he leads Dean by the hand, whistling for the dogs, who fly past them.

Dean stops on the threshold of the house, Bobby’s house, Castiel’s house, and thinks about how many terrible things have happened here, all the fighting and screaming, betrayal, words said that could never be unsaid. Maybe it was finally time for this house to have love again, like it did once so many years before. Maybe tomorrow Dean will wake up with the sun, and wrap his arms around a sleeping Castiel. Maybe they’ll make breakfast together and burn the eggs because they can’t stop kissing. Maybe they’ll plan a trip out to San Francisco. Maybe they’ll even survey the newspaper for new hunts. Dean doesn’t know. All he knows is that whatever happens, it’ll be him and Cas doing it together. And that’s all thats ever mattered.

“Are you coming?” Cas says from inside, phone pressed to his ear.

Dean smiles, and walks through the doorway.


	12. The Gambler

_ And then you turned, put out your hand, _

_ And you asked me to dance. _

_ I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight. _

_ I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose. _

_ I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely. _

_ Even if the sun stopped waking up over the fields _

_ I will not leave, I will not leave 'till it's our time. _

_ So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side. _

_ \---- _

Sam and Melissa get married on a Saturday in April. Dean is best man, obviously, and June is the cutest flower girl in the whole world, which Dean and Cas tell her repeatedly.

“I don’t wanna be cute,” she pouts. “I wanna be big, like Godzilla.”

“You’re the coolest kid I’ve ever met,” Dean laughs, which appeases her, and she scatters her petals dutifully for her mother, who looks absolutely stunning in a dark pink dress that matches Sam and Dean’s ties.

The reception is one of the best nights of Dean’s life. He and Sam jump up and down to Foreigner, and he twirls June during  _ The Time of My Life _ . When Elvis starts crooning, “ _ Wise men say, only fools rush in _ ”, he steals Cas away from Melissa’s sisters and they sway together, their hands cradled against Dean’s chest, Castiel’s hand wrapped around Dean’s shoulder.

While most of the guests are from Melissa’s side, it’s also a family reunion of sorts for the Winchesters and it reminds Dean just how many people he’s still got out there. Jody and Sam do the Macarena, Donna and Dean lead the electric slide, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Claire and Cas talking quietly together. He worries for a moment, but they’re both smiling, so he goes back to his boogie.

It isn’t until later when he’s sitting by himself, eating a slice of cake and drinking champagne and watching Patience and Alex teach Cas the chicken dance that Claire drops into the seat next to him.

“Hey, Dean,” she says.

“Hey kiddo,” he answers, grinning when she rolls her eyes at him.

“So Cas told me you two finally got together,” she beams at him. “I’m proud of you, old man.”

“Watch who you’re calling old,” he mutters.

She giggles and knocks her shoulder into his, and he can’t help but notice that her eyes are the exact same color as Castiel’s. He wonders if Cas noticed this as well, and if it still makes him feel guilty that he’s still here when her father is not.

“You seem like you’re doing okay,” he gestures to the dance floor, where Jody and Donna have joined the chicken dance tutorial.

“I am,” Claire says, and there’s pride in her voice he hasn’t heard before except when she talks about hunting. “I’m going back to college in the fall.”

“Good for you!” Dean lifts his champagne to toast her.

“Thanks,” she says, and she looks at him seriously, although there’s mirth in her eyes. “You seem like you’re doing okay, too.”

Dean looks back at the dance floor. Castiel is doing the beak and wings perfectly, but he’s not getting the twist right. June is trying to show him, her bossy little voice ringing out over the music. Sam and Melissa are swaying nearby, oblivious to the music.

“I am,” Dean says.

Jody and Donna look up, see them sitting there, and start frantically beckoning them onto the dance floor.

“Dean,” Cas lunges at him when they rejoin the group. “I cannot do this chicken dance. Don’t leave me again.”

He presses a kiss to Castiel’s temple and places a protective arm around him.

“Never,” Dean says, and Castiel relaxes into his arms, beaming at him, his ocean eyes shining.

The chicken dance music mercifully ends, and the crowd cheers when the Isley Brothers’  _ Shout _ begins to play. Dean sings along at the top of his voice, and he can pick out the voices of all his friends and family shouting, “ _ Hey, hey! _ ” He feels overwhelmed with joy that he gets to have this, that after all the blood and disaster and apocalypses, he can watch his little brother get married, arm-in-arm with the man he loves, surrounded by the best people he knows. It’s more than he ever thought to hope for, more than he used to think he deserved.

But as he looks around, Dean thinks that maybe this is exactly what he’s deserved all along.


End file.
